


The Wall

by myrna123



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama/Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrna123/pseuds/myrna123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Waiting in Vain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wall

This is the sequel to Waiting in Vain. You *might* be able to understand what's going on in this story without reading it, but it would probably be clearer if you read Waiting in Vain first. 

Much thanks to beta readers kerguelen and Roberta. Once again, they have saved all of you from having to read some frightening prose!!! 

This story is in no way affiliated with UPN or Pet Fly Productions. The characters are their property, and this story is not meant to infringe upon their copyrights. 

## The Wall

by Myrna

> __  
> They got a wall in China  
>  That's a thousand miles long.  
>  To keep out the foreigners  
>  They made it strong
> 
> And I've got a wall around me  
>  That you can't even see.  
>  It took a little time  
>  To get next to me.
> 
> Paul Simon  
>  Something So Right

From the hallway, Blair heard laughter in the loft, and his first thought was that he'd forgotten Jim's poker night. Fuck, fuck and double fuck! he though dismally. Usually he camped out at the library or in his office at the University until the testosterone fest was over. He hesitated for a minute. He was exhausted, and he felt shitty. His stomach had been acting up the last few days, and the only thing in the world that held any appeal was a long, hot shower and 18 hours of sleep. 

With a sigh, Blair opened the door and walked in. Jim was standing next to the couch in animated discussion with someone Blair had never seen. Nearly six-foot four with a buzz cut that mirrored Jim's, the man turned toward Blair and lifted an eyebrow at the grad student, giving him a look that made Blair feel defensive. "Hey Chief!" Jim said excitedly. "This is Drew Paxton. Used to be an esteemed member of the Cascade PD before moving on to the big city. We worked together when I was in Vice. Drew, this is Blair Sandburg, my partner." 

Blair smiled politely and offered his hand. "Nice to meet you," he said. 

Drew nodded and returned the handshake. "Yeah, kid, same here. Jimmy here says you're some big muckety muck at the University." 

Blair gave Jim a curious look before chuckling and shaking his head. "Hardly," he admitted. "I'm getting my doctorate in Anthropology. Until then, I'm basically slave labor for the University." 

Another impassive nod from Paxton. There was an awkward silence for a moment, then Jim said, "Hey, uh, Chief, you don't mind camping out on the couch and letting Paxton take your room for a few days, do you?" Jim's gaze came the closest Blair had ever seen to begging. 

Oh, okay, so that's how they were going to play it. Blair swallowed the disappointed lump at the back of his throat. He certainly didn't expect Jim to stand up in the middle of the squad room and declare his love for him, but here in his home, in *their* home, to have the relationship denied felt like a slap in the face. 

Blair knew he was overreacting--lack of sleep and a day and a half without solid food combining to make him overly sensitive. He turned to set his backpack by the door. "Of course not, no problem," he said easily, but thought bitterly to himself, *Hey, I oughta be thankful he didn't move me out to the University for the week. Probably would have if he'd known this guy was going to show up.* 

"I was kind of surprised when Jimmy told me he had a roommate," Drew said, pushing Jim's shoulder. "This guy was Mr. Lone Wolf back when I knew him. Now, finding him shacked up with some gorgeous red-head, *that* I might believe!" 

"Yeah, that sounds like Jim," Blair said with a grin only Jim could tell was forced. "So, uh, Drew, what brings you to Cascade?" 

Paxton shrugged. "I'm a private investigator in LA," he said. "Working on a case. I stopped by the Cascade PD to check something out and ran in to this character." 

"We were going to grab some dinner at Nelson's," Jim said. "You're welcome to come along." 

*How generous,* Blair thought. "Ah, thanks man, but I'm beat." For some reason he found it impossible to look Jim in the eye. "And I've got about four hours of grading staring me in the face." 

"Let me grab a quick shower and then we'll go," Paxton said. 

Jim waited until the bathroom door latched closed. "Look Chief, I'm sorry, okay?" he whispered. "I wasn't expecting him and then he got over here, and I just....I didn't know what to say." 

Blair shook his head and shrugged. "Forget it," he said tiredly. "It's no big deal." 

Jim's eyes flashed behind Blair to the bathroom door, then settled back on his face. "Yeah, it is a big deal," he said, taking note of Blair's pale complexion. "It's shitty, and I know it. I'll make it up to you, I swear." 

A flash of guilt colored Blair's cheeks. He was actually kind of relieved to have the loft to himself for the evening, and really, he didn't care that Jim wasn't ready to acknowledge their affair. Hell, the less people who knew about it, the less embarrassing it would be when Jim ended it. 

Blair forced a smirk on his face and said, "Fine. A month's worth of first showers and maybe I'll forgive you." 

"A month?" Jim echoed incredulously. "Paxton's only going to be here two days. One week's worth." 

"Two weeks," Blair countered. "Or else I'm sleeping in that little leather jobby you picked up last week after the vice raid...." 

Jim's eyes widened. "All right! All right! Two weeks!" 

Blair grinned victoriously and went to retrieve the test papers from his backpack. He put his glasses on and settled on the couch. With a luxurious stretch, he placed his feet on the coffee table and turned to Jim with raised eyebrows, daring the big man to say something. Jim glared at him and whispered, "Just wait, Sandburg, one of these days you're going to owe me, and...." 

"I'm sensing hostility," Blair said with mock severity. "If I'm to keep up this charade, I'll need to be surrounded by peace and tranquillity." 

Jim smirked, but said nothing as he walked to the refrigerator and opened the door. "Hey, there's leftover spaghetti, some Chinese from The Dragon and a ton of shit for a salad in here," Jim said, his voice back to its normal timbre. "Eat something, all right? You're wasting away to nothing." 

"I know how much you like a girlish figure," Blair said sarcastically, most of his attention focused on the test in his lap. 

"I'm serious, Blair. Eat something." 

"All right, *Pops,* I'll eat," he replied and didn't have to look up to know Jim's smirk deepened. 

But Paxton came out of the bathroom staving off a reply from the Big Man. Blair tried not to grin at Jim's chagrin when they left the loft with Paxton droning on about the joys of watching the master tail catcher at work. 

Once he was sure the two men had driven off down the street, Blair sighed and tossed the exam to the stack on the floor. With a groan, he curled up on the couch and pressed a fist against his burning abdomen. The ulcer was acting up and how. Shit, it hurt! 

It was stupid, really, not saying anything to Jim about it. Reminded him of when he was a kid, and he had to pretend to be perfect so he wouldn't mess anything up. The reasonable part of his mind knew Jim wouldn't kick him out for getting sick, but there was another part of his brain that kept saying, 'you can't be too sure.' 

Besides, he was just under a lot of stress right now. He was working on an article for Explorer Magazine and teaching an extra class this semester, which somehow tripled his workload. There was always something going on at the Station, and this whole thing with Jim had thrown him for a loop. Two months ago, he would have sworn that ending up in the sack with Jim was a wet dream that would never see the light of day. And then, suddenly (if you can call a year after meeting suddenly) there they were, rolling around on the floor and saying crazy things like 'I love you.' 

He knew better than to open himself up for such major rejection, but something happened to him whenever he looked into Jim's clear blue eyes. Reason, will, sanity--totally out the window when that man kissed him. 

The phone ringing suddenly made Blair jump. He rolled his neck, trying to work out a kink, and let the machine pick up. As soon as he heard the voice of the caller, an angry stab of pain rocketed through his stomach. Ah yes, Number One with a bullet on the stress-o-meter--Daniel Graves, Assistant Director of Seattle's FBI office. He and Blair had engaged in a brief affair right before he and Jim got together, and AD Graves, it was now apparent, did not take rejection lightly, and was currently engaged in a campaign of harassment against the young grad student. 

Blair sighed guiltily. Another little situation Jim knew nothing about. He thought it was handled. Graves was no longer dropping by the police department every day or so, no longer parking outside the loft or leaving presents by the front door. There were no overt clues for the detective to pick up on and Blair preferred it that way. Besides, there was a guilty part of Blair who felt sorry for the guy. As his own feelings for Jim deepened, almost against his will, he came to understand Daniel's hurt and confusion about his own abrupt change of heart. He dreaded the day Jim came through the door and said, 'It's over, kid. Grab your stuff and get going.' For the first time, Blair knew what it was like to lose himself in someone, and it was terrifying enough when they were returning your feelings. What in the hell was it like when they didn't? 

With another sigh, Blair drug himself over to the answering machine and played the message he had only half-heard. 

"I know you're there, Blair," came Daniel's voice, shaking with rage. "I saw him leave. Your perfect little detective. And with another guy. Is that how it works with you two? You decide on an open arrangement? Or rather, did *he*? How can you do this to yourself? Sell yourself short like this, let that....that neanderthal treat you this way? I offer you a home, Blair. A family. I offer you a *committment* and you throw it in my face to be with someone who won't even treat you with the respect you deserve. And I'm supposed to just stand here watching and offer you my congratulations? Tell you I hope you'll both be happy? I won't do that because you won't be happy with him. You belong with me and the sooner you realize that, the better off we're all going to be." 

Blair hit the erase button, then played the tape over to make sure the message was gone. Maybe he should have saved the message and played it for Jim. But then Jim would jump in to Blessed Protector mode and with Daniel getting wierder and wierder, there was no telling what the Fed would do in retaliation. No, better to let the guy stew and make his crazy phone calls, get it out of his system. Hell, he was bound to meet somebody else eventually. Let that poor sap replace him in the weirdo's psycho games.  
  


* * *

Blair was asleep on the couch when Jim and Paxton returned to the loft. He didn't stir while Jim and Drew stumbled around, intoxicated from both the beers they'd drunk and the good vibes of hooking back up with an old friend. Paxton took one last pass at the 'can,' then retired to his room for the night. 

Jim stood in the living room for a good ten minutes before venturing closer to the couch. He had a great buzz going and nearly groaned out loud at Blair's inviting form on the couch. He loved coaxing Blair up from a muzzy state of sleep and then entering him while he was still pliant and drowsy. 

He'd been a real shit to the kid tonight. He felt guilty about it, even though Blair had shrugged it off like it was nothing. That was the thing about Blair, so little seemed to phase him, Jim felt like he always ran the risk of hurting him without knowing he'd done it. God, he was such a fucking coward. What the hell did he care what Drew Paxton thought of him. He'd probably never see him again. What the fuck business was it of his if his beautiful, brilliant young lover happened to be a man? 

*Yeah, right Ellison. You're a coward.* Right then, he'd have given just about anything to swoop Blair into his arms and kiss him awake...whisper his apology then beg forgiveness with lips and legs and....Shit, this was getting him absolutely nowhere. With a sigh, Jim took himself and his painful erection upstairs and fell asleep in a bed that felt bigger and emptier than he could ever remember.  
  


* * *

Two days turned into five, then six, then seven days. Whatever case Paxton was working on was somehow taking longer than expected. Blair started thinking the guy was just hanging out, padding his expense account. All he ever seemed to do was sit around waiting for "Jimmy" to get home so they could tom cat around. 

Blair's attitude had gone from agreeable, to acceptable, to surly and was now bordering somewhere in the region of hostile. He spent more and more time away from the loft, hanging out with friends from the U in what Jim knew was a blatant message of 'two-can-play-this-game.' 

The big man tried to work up a good case of righteous indignation, but given that he was completely to blame for the whole debacle, that was kind of difficult. Paxton had a big mouth at the best of times, and he could wax endlessly about what he saw as Jim's amazing prowess with women, which wasn't necessarily the topic of conversation Jim wanted bandied about over the breakfast table with his lover sitting across from him 

The morning of the sixth day, Blair stormed out of the loft and slammed the door behind him, leaving Paxton shaking his head at Jim. "Boy, he sure is a moody little fella." 

"Yeah, well, he's got a lot on his mind, I guess," Jim mumbled, shoving another forkful of egg into his mouth. 

Paxton shrugged good-naturedly. "You oughta set him up with some of your run-off, Jimmy," he suggested helpfully. "Maybe all he needs is a good lay." 

Jim shrugged and suddenly became very interested in spreading jam on a piece of toast. He sighed inwardly and thought, *He and I both, Paxton. He and I both.*  
  


* * *

Blair took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. He reached for another antacid thinking he was eating the things like candy these days, for all the good they were doing. He knew he should drop by the clinic and get a new prescription, but he was feeling put upon and overworked and stressed out and a voluntary doctor's appointment was low on his priority list. 

Jim owed him a *lifetime* of first showers for putting up with Paxton's shit and if that fucker wasn't out of the loft by the weekend, Blair was going to.... He paused. *Yeah, Blair, what are you going to do?* he thought. Flounce around the place a little more. Huff out a few more explosive sighs? Slam some more doors?* 

He smirked at himself, put his glasses on and tried once more to concentrate on the fertility rites of the ancient Mayans. 

He looked up when the door opened, hoping it was Jim and expecting one of his students. It was neither. 

Daniel Graves, looming tall and serious, shut the door behind him, smacking a large brown envelope in his hand. 

Blair's stomach twisted at the coming altercation. Despite the Fed's creepy antics, Blair didn't think he would physically harm him, but any time spent with the guy was sure to leave a bad taste behind. Rolling his eyes, Blair tossed his glasses back on his desk and leaned tiredly back. 

"What?" he said. 

Graves looked Blair up and down, his mouth pursed with displeasure. "You look tired," he said quietly. "And thin. Doesn't Ellison let you *eat?*" 

"Yeah, well, Daniel, every time I sit down to eat something, there's a threatening message on my voice mail, and I lose my appetite. Whose fault is *that* I wonder?" 

Graves ignored him. "Your detective has been awfully busy this week," he said, his tone light and conversational. "I've been wondering what he tells you when he leaves at night. Do you think he's working on a case with this PI buddy of his? Does he tell you he's out making the world safe and secure?" 

"Why won't you leave me alone?" Blair asked quietly, his stomach feeling like he swallowed a vat of acid. "I don't want you. I'll never want you. Just leave me alone." 

"Granted I'm not the wonderful *catch* your detective is. But there's still hope for you, Blair. You'll come to your senses sooner or later. I guess I'm just holding out for sooner." He smiled sweetly and opened the envelope he'd been nervously passing from hand to hand. He threw several black and white photographs on Blair's desk. 

Another stab of pain shot through Blair's stomach, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The pictures were of Jim at a night club. At several night clubs. Shots of him sitting around a table with a bunch of fellow officers, laughing, drinking. Shots of him dancing with a stunning blond woman. Shots of him kissing her. Lots of shots of him kissing her. He was smiling at her with laughter in his eyes, a look Blair had foolishly thought was meant only for him. *Come on, Blair, don't let this fucker do this to you. You know Jim's just keeping up appearances. You know he's not ready to make anything public. You know he's not enjoying this any more than you are.....* 

*Then why the fuck does he look so damned happy?!* 

Blair was careful to betray no emotion to the gloating man in front of him. "You think this is some big revelation to me?" Blair asked, sounding distinctly bored. "Any understanding Jim and I have is between the two of us. Pictures of him shoving his tongue down the throat of some bimbo are beneath even you, Daniel." Blair tossed the photos in his trash can, retrieved his glasses and reached for a test booklet. "Thanks for the entertainment and all, but I've got a lot of work to do." 

Daniel's face lost all its color, then flushed bright red. "I've played nice, Blair," he said in a low voice. "I've given you every opportunity to fix the mistakes you've made, but my patience is beginning to run thin." 

"Well, buddy, join the club!" Blair said irritably. "Go home, Daniel. Get a hobby. Get a fucking life. Leave me alone." 

"I think I'd rather tell you a story," Daniel said in slow, calm voice. "Don't worry, it's short and to the point. It's a little story about assassins and how they train for their job. Do you know they usually stalk their victims before the job. Shoot them with cameras as a kind of dress rehearsal for the big show. You'd be surprised how similar the button on a 35 millimeter is to the trigger of an air rifle." 

Blair's heart started thumping ominously against his ribs, growing louder and louder until he was almost straining to hear Daniel over it. The Fed opened up his envelope again and tossed another set of pictures at Blair. 

These were also of Jim, all of them taken in the last week-walking out of the loft or the station, standing next to his truck, taking a statement from a victim, arresting a suspected criminal. 

Blair felt a surge of bile rise to the back of his throat. On every single photo, Daniel had taken a red pen and drawn a nice, neat circle over Jim's heart. 

Blair felt the blood drain from his face. Rage and fear tumbled fiercely in his aching gut. "If you hurt him, if you touch him...." he started to say in a low voice. 

Daniel shrugged his shoulders and smiled innocently at Blair. "I'd like to think my little story ends happily ever after, but that's up to you." He paused at the door and looked over his shoulder. "You have a nice day, Blair. I'll talk to you soon."  
  


* * *

Twice on the drive home, Blair nearly had to pull over to the side of the road, one time because he was shaking so badly he could barely work the gas and the next because he thought he was going to vomit. Shit, this was bad. This was really bad. Jim was going to hit the roof because he hadn't said anything. Oh man, he really screwed up this time. Jeez, what if he was too late? What if Daniel already....no, no. Come on, Blair, that's crazy. He wouldn't really do something like that. He's just trying to scare you, that's all. He's just trying to scare you. And shit is he doing a good job! 

Once back at the loft, Blair sat in the car for a few minutes, working to get his breathing under control. It was a lost cause and by the time he opened the front door he was almost in a state of panic. "Jim?" he called. "Jim!" 

"Up here!" Jim called from the bedroom. 

Blair hesitated, unsure if Paxton was there. Would he have gone up to Jim's bedroom before? Would Paxton think anything of it if he did? The decision was taken care of when Jim jogged down the stairs. "Hey!" he said brightly proving Paxton wasn't around by swooping Blair into a hug and kissing him. Puzzled by Blair's unresponsiveness, Jim set him down, expecting a complaint about Paxton still hanging around. He frowned at Blair's haggard appearance. "What's going on?" he asked. 

Blair shrugged, thinking for a wild, crazy second that maybe he could fix this without actually having to tell Jim the whole story. "Nothing, nothing," he said with a shrug. He smiled nervously at Jim and said, "Hey, I was thinking, maybe, maybe you could beg off going out tonight and stick around. You know, tell Paxton you're tired or have some meeting in the morning." He smiled again, coaxing with those big blue eyes of his. 

Jim lifted an eyebrow. "It's Paxton's last night in town," he said. "That oughta make you happy, right? Anyway, practically the whole station is getting together at Dugan's." 

"Then they wouldn't even miss you!" Blair pointed out, ferociously gripping Jim's arm. "Come on Jim, one night isn't going to mean anything." 

"Blair, I'm not staying in tonight," Jim said wresting his arm from Blair's viselike grip. "What's with you anyway?" 

"Stay home," Blair said. "Come on Jim, for me. Just....just this once. I'll never ask you again. Stay home, okay?" He grabbed Jim's shirt this time, holding it in his fist, eyes wide with confusing intensity. 

"Blair!" Jim said, exasperated, freeing himself yet again. "What is going on? I'm going to Dugan's and that's final." 

"Yeah, you wouldn't want to miss out on another opportunity to suck face with your little blond bombshell, would you?" Blair said, bitter and defeated. 

Jim flushed and reacted to his guilt with an instinctual offensive push. "What, have you been *following* me this whole week?!" he asked, voice raising dangerously. 

"I don't have to," Blair said quietly. "Daniel Graves did it for me. And was kind enough to provide eight by tens of all the fun." 

Jim was brought up short by the admission. *Okay, Ellison, there are two issues on the table here. One, you're an absolute dickhead and two, Daniel Graves is back in the picture? *Back* in the picture? Or is it that he never left?* 

"Daniel Graves?" he said, making sure the anger had drained from his tone. "I thought he was....I mean, you never said anything..... Is he still bothering you?" 

Although he knew the answer well enough, Blair shrugged and backed away from Jim. "Don't go out tonight," he whispered. "Stay home." 

"What did he say to you?" Jim asked, hesitating to move closer given Blair's unease. "Did he threaten you?" he asked, anger making its way back into his tone despite every effort to the contrary. "Did he say he was coming here tonight? Is that what this is about? Did he say he was going to hurt you?" 

Blair impatiently shook his head. "He didn't say anything about me," he explained. "He didn't say anything about anybody. He just started talking about....about assassins and cameras and air rifles and how its just as easy to shoot someone as to take their picture." He rummaged around in his backpack. "Then he handed me these and said, 'have a nice day.'" Blair passed the photographs to Jim, whose eyes widened in shock as he rifled through them. 

"That mother fucking son of a bitch," he breathed, incredulous. "Ah, Jesus, Blair, why didn't you tell me he was bothering you?" 

Blair shrugged, relieved that Jim seemed more worried than angry. Of course, that was just his initial reaction. Who knew how he'd react once he had some time to think about it. "I kept thinking he'd get over it, you know? I certainly never thought he'd come after you like this. What.... what are we going to do?" 

"Tomorrow morning *I'm* going to have a nice, long chat with Assistant Director Graves. This is nuts, Blair! This is just nuts!" 

"Which is why going to talk to him is about the worst thing you can do!" Blair said. "Can't we just....I don't know, lay low for awhile or something?" 

"Yeah, right," Jim snorted. "I'll just call Simon and tell him I can't come to work for a few days because my boyfriend's ex is stalking us. That oughta go over real well." 

Blair lifted an eyebrow. "Hey, you never called me your boyfriend before," he said. 

"Blair!" Jim admonished. 

Blair jumped and shrugged as if to say, 'Well, it's true.' "Jeez, I'm really sorry, Jim. I thought I could take care of this on my own, you know?" 

Jim sighed. "Why won't you open up to me?" he asked. "You have *got* to work on this, Chief, so that every time you finally *do* come to me it's not some gigantic mess I have to clean up." 

Face twisting sourly at Jim's fatherly lecture, Blair turned away. "You're right, Jim," he said bitterly. "Maybe your *girlfriend* could give me some pointers. She looks like sharing is one of her real fortes." 

Ouch. Well, okay, he deserved that, Jim thought. "Oh come on, Sandburg, you know that doesn't mean anything. It's like being under cover, for God's sake." 

"Yeah, right," Blair muttered. He winced at a particularly painful turn of his stomach and sighed. "Whatever." He flopped down on the couch and closed his eyes. "Paxton really leaving?" 

"Yeah," Jim answered. 

Blair nodded. He opened his eyes and stared hard at his lover. "Stay home tonight," he said softly. "Stay with me." 

Jim lowered his eyes, stunned at how much it pained him to refuse the younger man. It would seem odd--Paxton staying with him and then his begging off the guy's last night in town to sit at home with Blair. Jim felt like what the two of them had was so obvious, like any minute the guys were going to start asking questions, making accusations. He knew he shouldn't care, knew it shouldn't matter. But it did. He wasn't who they thought he was. Hell, he wasn't who *he* thought he was anymore. He wasn't ready to share it yet, wasn't ready for their questions, their stares. Anyway, it didn't sound like Graves had threatened Blair in any way. He'd make it up to Blair, he promised. Make him understand that keeping their union quiet didn't have anything to do with him. Jim was sure that deep down, Blair already knew that. The kid seemed half psychic most of the time anyway, at least where *his* feelings were concerned. 

Jim affectionately tugged on Blair's ear and grinned. "Hey, Chief. I'm going to a bar with 50 other cops. I'll be safer there than here anyway. Are you sure Graves didn't threaten you?" 

Blair knew if he lied and said he had, Jim would stay home, but he was guilty of enough sins of omission now, if he started outright lying he'd be in real trouble. "Jim, I swear to God, if he does something to hurt you, I won't....I mean, jeez, I couldn't...." 

Jim hugged Blair and gently kissed him. "He can't touch me, Blair," he assured his lover. "The only reason I didn't notice him tailing me before was because I wasn't looking for him. Now that I know he's out there, he won't be hard to intimidate. He's just trying to get a rise out of us." 

Blair grinned suddenly, hearing a double entendre in the words. He wiggled against Jim's groin. "Shit, Jim, after seven of the longest, driest days I can remember that shouldn't take much at all."  
  


* * *

The call came only ten minutes after Jim and Drew left. Blair knew who it was before he picked up. 

"My, your detective looks so nice in tans and browns, doesn't he?" Daniel asked smoothly, letting Blair know he had seen Jim leave the loft. "Looks like 'the guys' are having an old home week. What in the world do you think they'll do when they find out the great Jim Ellison is a fag?" 

Blair reflexively gripped the phone and grit his teeth to keep from saying anything. 

"I can hear the gasps of disbelief from here. The snickers, the lost respect, the veiled threats. I wonder if our brave detective could ever go on another stakeout without worrying about a stray bullet or two missing their mark. Unfortunately, Cascades finest aren't the most forward thinking lot, are they Blair?" 

Blair wanted to hang up the phone, but figured that as long as Daniel was tormenting *him,* he wasn't aiming a rifle at Jim. He was fearful to say anything, though, lest he piss off an already unbalanced Graves. Shit, what the fuck were they going to do? Any attempt at an official rebuke would surely endanger Jim's standing. Graves might go, but he sure as hell wouldn't go quietly. Graves was getting more and more daring, more and more outrageous. How far would he go? He wouldn't risk his own career, would he? 

A month ago, Blair knew the answer to that question. Now, listening to Daniel Graves rant about Blair whoring himself to the almighty Jim Ellison, he wasn't sure at all.  
  


* * *

With papers strewn all over the coffee table and most of the floor, Blair gave a good impression of *not* waiting up for their return. He even managed to listen politely while an inebriated Drew Paxton gushed about Jim's being a babe magnet and seeing if maybe they couldn't bottle his scent to sell on the open market. 

Embarrassed, Jim shuffled the man off to bed. He came back to the living room and spread his arms out wide. "Back in one piece, Chief," he said. 

Blair looked him up and down before returning his attention to the journal on his lap. "Some pieces having enjoyed a harder work out than others," he said wryly. 

Glancing over his shoulder and listening in to make sure Paxton was asleep, Jim slipped closer to his lover, running his hand through Blair's soft curls. "My pieces only work with you, Baby," he said in a husky voice. "Which I'll be more than happy to prove to you tomorrow night." 

Blair smiled into his book. Shaking his head like a man who knew when to give up and when to not even bother, he sighed. "You know, Jim, devastating good looks and animal magnetism are only going to buy you so much. One of these days I'm going to stay pissed at you for longer than 15 minutes." 

"Maybe one of these days I'll quit pissing you off," Jim offered helpfully. 

"Are you suggesting I lower my standards?" Blair asked, raising a teasing eyebrow. "Or that you raise yours?" 

Jim chuckled and grinned fondly at the younger man. "I missed you this week," he said quietly, then lowered his voice even further. "Missed you in my bed. Missed waking up with you sprawled on top of me....Kind of funny how two months can completely wipe out a lifetime of rolling over and passing out, huh?" 

Despite the tell-tale flush across his cheeks, Blair shrugged and punched the sofa cushions. "Oh, I don't know, Jim. I've grown pretty fond of lumpy pillows, back aches, neck aches....It might be hard to leave all this luxury behind." 

"I'll make it up to you," Jim vowed, leaning down for a kiss full of promise. "I'll make you forget all about Paxton," he said between kisses, "And blondes, and couches." 

*And about Daniel Graves?* Blair couldn't help but silently add. 

When Jim replied, Blair had one of those irrational flashes that came whenever he thought maybe Jim had read his mind. The big man pulled back, running his thumb along Blair's swollen lips. "I'll make you forget all of it," he whispered. "I'll make you forget everything but me." 

And even though Blair didn't believe it possible, he didn't say anything because he knew they'd have a hell of a good time trying.  
  


* * *

Unfortunately, the next day some idiot decided to murder the governor's cousin. Jim was assigned to the high profile case and spent the next 48 hours tracking down leads. Blair was asleep (in their bed, at least) when he got home each evening, and Jim was tired and cranky over breakfast. They both lamented real life's way of fucking up the best laid plans, or, as Blair put it, the best plans for getting laid. 

It turned out the case wasn't a very tricky one. The murderer was a crackhead who had left so many clues at the scene, all Jim had to do was follow the neon arrows leading right to him. The arrest, three days after the murder, was all over the news, who flashed picture after picture of the brave, not to mention photogenic, Detective Ellison into living rooms everywhere. 

In his office at the university, Blair watched the celebratory press conference on a small black and white TV. He grinned at Jim's discomfort with the blinding flashbulbs and inane questions from reporters. He knew the big man would prefer to be anywhere else in the world but in that spotlight. 

When the phone rang, Blair half-expected it to be Jim, which was silly given the fact that the man was standing there on TV without a phone to his ear. "Hey!" Blair said happily. 

"Your heroic detective is all the rage, isn't he Blair?" 

Blair sighed and resisted the urge to slam the phone down. 

"I've been watching him all week. My, he cuts a dashing figure on the TV screen." Silence. Blair could feel Daniel's frustration, the barely controlled rage. It made him tired. "I'm starting to think he's a more formidable rival for your affections than I first gave him credit. It occurs to me that maybe another *incentive* is due to help you make the right choice between us." 

*There is no choice!* Blair wanted to scream, but kept quiet. The day before he'd talked to one of the psyche grads about stalkers. He made it seem like he was collecting the information for a case he was working on with Jim. He'd been looking for something the stalkee could do to discourage the stalker. 

His friend couldn't offer much help. Most stalkers had never been in trouble with the law before so they weren't breaking parole or anything; restraining orders, when they could be secured, did little but piss the person off more. The student had shrugged philosophically and said the best bet was for the victim to lay low and hope the stalker found someone else to obsess over. 

There was a sound of paper rustling. Daniel cleared his throat. "I've been perusing some of my files here, Blair. You know, checking up on unsolved cases, seeing if criminals currently incarcerated might not be to blame for them, that kind of thing." Silence. Blair knew his lack of reaction was angering the AD, but anything he said probably would too. He figured they were better off if he just kept quiet. 

"So you can imagine my surprise when I picked up a file and began reading about an old friend of *yours!* I thought to myself 'here's something *else* I never knew about the boy.' You are full of surprises, aren't you, Blair?" 

"What are you talking about," Blair finally barked. God, this was old! 

"Why, your stepfather," Daniel continued in an injured tone, as if hurt by Blair's impatience. "Oh, I guess he was never *officially* your stepfather, but I believe he functioned in that capacity." 

Blair's heart stopped. For a brief moment, everything shut down so that all he was aware of was a deafening, whining scream. He couldn't breathe, the room darkened as his vision caved in. His stomach churned with sickening undulations. "Don't," was all he managed to choke out. 

"Martin Biggins. There's a blast from the past, huh Blair? He's been in and out of trouble since last you saw him. But he's paid his current debt to society. The state of Arizona is getting ready to release him, and I thought maybe I should have Mr. Biggins up to Washington so I can ask him about a couple of outstanding bank jobs. See if he doesn't have any information for me. Take over Mr. Biggins' parole from here. He might be glad to have some erstwhile family around, wouldn't you agree? I'm sure he'll be quick to look you up, so the two of you can talk over old times together. I'm sure he remembers you *quite* well." 

"You're a sick son of a bitch," Blair rasped. "I hate myself for spending a single minute with you! I'm glad I hurt you, you mother fucker! I'm glad of it!" 

"Such language," Graves said mildly. "Does the Great Jim Ellison know you talk to people like that?" 

"Shut up!" Blair said, frayed nerves nearly giving way. "You're not fit to mention his *name!*" he hissed. "You're nothing compared to him! Do you hear me? Nothing!" 

"That's big talk coming from a damaged piece of *shit,* like you!" Graves angrily spit back. 

"If I'm so damaged, why are you doing this?" Blair asked. "Why do you want me back?!" 

"I know what you *can* be," Graves said, "Not what you are! Then again, Jim has no idea what you are either, does he, Blair? What's Mr. Perfect going to do when he finds out his precious little charge is damaged goods, hmm? I have a feeling he won't be able to unload you quick enough, my boy. But then, you've known that all along, haven't you? What would Cascades finest want with a wrecked little pup like you? That's what you think, isn't it Blair? Isn't it!" 

"I don't care if he kicks me out!" Blair lied. "I don't care if he banishes me out of the fucking country. I'll *never* get near you again, Daniel. Never!" 

"We'll see about that, Blair. We'll see about that indeed."  
  


* * *

Functioning on a strange kind of auto-pilot, Blair organized his office before leaving for the night. He walked to his car, staring at his feet in wonder. He felt as if he were no longer solid, as if with every step his foot might very well pass through the floor. So this was how it would end. Jim would learn the truth. He would try, for awhile, to be supportive. He would say it didn't matter. That's the kind of guy he was. Honorable. Upright. He would try. 

But once the seed was planted, there was nothing to be done but wait for the gradual realization that Blair was not who he wanted. Who he deserved. Blair was not someone he could stay with, much less acknowledge to those around him. Now it was just a matter of time. 

Blair absentmindedly grabbed the flyer on his windshield and started to fold it and throw it in the back seat with the thousand others he'd collected when he realized it wasn't a flyer at all. If was a copy of a newspaper article from the July 15, 1979, Flagstaff Herald. Staring blankly at the familiar headline and the forlorn eyes of his former self, Blair gave a slight groan and promptly vomited. He held on to the car for support, his head swimming. When he could lift his head , he looked around self-consciously, figuring he didn't need rumors of being a drunk added to his already full plate. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and would have just sat there in the car for a lot longer if not for the sudden, chilling thought of Jim finding a similar present on his own windshield. 

Somehow he made it home without killing himself or anyone else. He ripped open the mailbox, rifling through the mail, then tore upstairs and into the loft. No article. Should he drive to the station? It was seven o'clock, Jim was no doubt on his way home. It was too late. He was screwed. 

He noticed the answering machine blinking and tears of rage and frustration welled in his eyes. Why was this happening? It wasn't fair! He'd hardly had any time at all! Why did it have to be over so soon? Why? 

Blair played the message, expecting more rants from Daniel Graves, but it was Jim's less than cheerful voice on the other end. "Hey, Babe, it's me," he said. "Your line's busy at work. When are you guys going to spring for call waiting, huh? Listen, I'm going to be late tonight. I've got to go to some stupid dinner at the Governor's mansion. Is that a load of crock or what? I told Simon if they keep punishing me for solving crimes, I'm going to quit doing it! Anyway, I won't be home until after midnight. Jeez, are we going through a record dry spell or what? I guess setting the alarm for 5:30 is out of the question, huh? Oh well, good things come to those who wait. Accent on the come, right? Hey, Paxton sent me tickets to the Bulls-Sonics game to thank us for our hospitality. I was thinking we'd get reservations for the weekend at the Ritz, make a big deal out of it. Maybe get me off your shit list for awhile. Think about it anyway. We'll talk later. See you. Hey, Skinny Man, eat something. Bye." 

Trembling all over, Blair nearly missed the signals his rattled body was sending. With a start, he stumbled toward the bathroom and vomited again. There were flecks of blood in it, and he grimaced and quickly flushed the toilet. Okay, okay, where do we stand here, hm? Jim sounded too normal on the phone, he couldn't have found the article. Not yet. 

Blair stood shakily by the sink and splashed water of his face. *Think, Blair. THINK!* he admonished himself. *What are you going to do here?* His gut reaction was to flee. Just throw some shit in a bag, get in his car and go. Head to Denver, or LA, or fucking Borneo for that matter. Just get as far away as fast as he could, and that way he'd never have to explain anything to Jim. 

Blair's heart ached at the thought of Jim learning the truth, at being forced to see the disgust in his lover's eyes. It was bad enough he didn't even know who his real father was.... 

He'd been kidding himself from the start, thinking someone like Jim would let him hang around indefinitely. Still, he sure as hell hadn't planned on it blowing up like this. 

Maybe he could hold it together for a little longer. Maybe he could juggle Jim and Daniel Graves, the precinct, his studies, the classes he was teaching, and the imminent return of Martin Biggins. 

With a muttered, "Shit!" Blair threw up again. He sank down to his knees and rested his forehead against the porcelain bathtub. *Oh yeah, Sandburg, you oughta be fine.....*  
  


* * *

Having made no effort to be quiet, Jim crawled into bed at nearly one o'clock. Since Blair was generally a night person, he felt no qualms about sliding his arms around the still figure and nibbling on his neck. Maybe their dry spell was over after all, he thought, as Blair stirred awake. 

"Mmm," Blair sighed. "Hail the conquering hero," he said, pushing himself against Jim's chest. "How was your dinner?" 

Jim moved so Blair could roll onto his back. He grinned at his lover. "Lousy," he groused. "Rubber chicken and a million reporters. Couldn't be less conducive to good digestion. Simon owes me for this one. They stuck me with the governor's wife and I spent the whole evening trying to avoid her hulking size 12's on the dance floor." 

Blair grinned at the image. "Bet *she* didn't stick her tongue down your throat though, did she?" 

"Didn't you watch the eleven o'clock news?" Jim asked innocently. "That was the lead story." He kissed Blair's neck, then a slow path across his shoulder, frowning when Blair didn't seem to respond. "Speaking of sticking tongues in different places," he whispered suggestively. 

Blair gently shrugged himself out of Jim's hold and turned back onto his side. "I don't feel so hot, okay?" he said. 

"What's wrong?" Jim asked, checking Blair's temperature. 

"Nothing really, something I ate I guess." 

"You actually ate something?" Jim asked wryly. "Maybe your stomach's just rebelling from lack of use." 

"Yeah, well, I'll be better tomorrow, okay?" 

"Okay," Jim said, suppressing a sigh by placing one final kiss on Blair's shoulder. "Is it okay if I hold you for awhile?" 

Shuddering in surprise at the sudden tears in his eyes, Blair had to swallow a gigantic lump in his throat before he could whisper, "Yeah, I could probably live with that." 

Some time later, Blair moaned fearfully, and Jim instantly awoke. Blair's heart was beating a mile a minute and the kid was drenched with sweat. He moaned again, tossing fretfully. "Is Martin here?" he whimpered. "Don't let him....don't let him in...." 

Jim's own heart dipped and sputtered at the terror in Blair's voice. He gently shook the younger man's shoulder. "Blair? Hey, wake up." 

With a terrified cry, Blair bolted upright in bed. He looked wildly around the room, before shoving himself off the bed and scrambling for the farthest corner. He crouched low, hands defensively covering his head, then he tensed, waiting for the blows to land. "Oh god, oh god, oh god," he prayed, closing his eyes, as if not seeing meant he couldn't be seen. 

Jim, his own eyes wide with shock, sat motionless in the bed, stunned at the vehemence of Blair's reaction. Jim ran his hand over his hair thinking how *Blair* usually took the lead when they were dealing with people's emotions. Usually he spun some bald-faced lie to make them feel better, but it was still Blair's domain. Jim felt helpless. 

"Blair, it's okay," he said softly. "It was just a dream. You're awake now, and I'm here and there's nothing to be afraid of." He cautiously crept out of bed and approached Blair, kneeling just out of his personal space. 

Shoulders still hunched, Blair lifted his head, blinking rapidly, his face confused. "Oh god, Jim, he's coming back. He's coming back and there's nothing we can do." 

"You had a bad dream," Jim soothed. "You don't feel well and Daniel's been bugging you and we're all pulling you in ten thousand directions right now. It was just a dream." 

Blair let Jim pull him to a standing position and nudge him back to bed. He shrugged Jim off when he tried to nestle Blair on his chest. "I wish Biggins was a bad dream," Blair whispered, curling up in a ball, with his back to Jim. "I'd give anything if it was. But he's not. He's coming back, Jim, and there's nothing we can do about it."  
  


* * *

The next morning Blair was embarrassed and uncommunicative, bristling at Jim's repeated attempts to discuss the nightmare. 

While Jim tried to ply Blair full of breakfast, he badgered him with questions. Blair's chest tightened and his stomach ached. He felt cornered and endangered. He ignored his lover as best he could, but he was exhausted and his stomach hurt and the only man he had ever loved might not know it yet, but he was getting ready to leave. Because the good ones always did. 

"God dammit, would you leave me alone?" Blair finally yelled. "You can't *fix* everything, Jim! And you don't need to know about every fucking corner of my psyche! God, for one of the most closed mouthed people I know you sure are nosy!" 

"Nosy!" Jim echoed incredulously. "I'm not being *nosy* I'm trying to *help* you!" 

"I don't want your help!" Blair shouted, startling Jim into realizing he had rarely, no, make that *never* seen Blair truly angry. 

"Just because you don't want it, doesn't mean you don't need it," Jim said, keeping his own voice level. 

"Well that's the stupidest load of crap I've ever heard," Blair muttered. "I'm a grown man, Jim. And I've been taking care of myself for as long as I can remember...." 

"So you keep telling me, Blair. Then why is it you shot out of bed last night like it was on fire?" Jim asked. "Why were you huddled in the corner like some abandoned war orphan? You hardly knew where you were!" 

Blair gave an angry huff and turned away from Jim. He closed his eyes and concentrated on calming his anger. "Please, just give me some space, okay?" 

Ignoring him, Jim asked. "Who is Martin Biggins?" 

Blair paled. Jim could almost sense the chill that flooded through him. The kid's shock was so profound, Jim realized he obviously remembered little about what had happened the night before. "Leave me alone," Blair said, his voice a rasping whisper. 

"Let me help you," Jim said, his own voice a coaxing whisper. 

Blair whirled to face him, the once pale face now red with anger. "I don't need your help!" he shouted. "I don't want it!" And with that, he grabbed his backpack and slammed out of the house. 

Jim shook his head, frustrated, worried, and a little hurt at Blair's determination to shut him out. 

An hour later, his phone rang just as he was settling into his desk. Relieved neither one of them would spend the day stewing, Jim grinned and picked up the receiver.. "Ellison," he said amicably. 

A heavy sigh from the other end. Jim started doodling on a pad of paper. "Sorry," Blair mumbled. "I didn't mean to blow up like that, it's just...." 

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry I was pushing so hard," Jim said, lowering his voice several notches. "I was thinking on the way in....it's kind of funny, everyone thinks of me as this loner and you as some kind of...." 

"Party guy?" Blair said helpfully. 

Jim's smirk was there in his voice, "No, Sandburg, as this social, outgoing kind of guy. But you've always been as much of a loner as I have." He grinned now. "You're just more friendly is all. If you were as surly as I am, they could hardly tell us apart." 

"I guess I came pretty close this morning, huh?" Blair said, a smile working its way into his tone as well. 

"Ouch, adding insults to injury!" Jim said. 

"I am sorry," Blair said seriously, lowering his voice even though there was no one nearby. "I just need some space right now, okay? We'll talk about it eventually, but right now I just can't." 

Jim sighed quietly. "All right then. I'll back off for now. But you have to understand that I'm not going to stand around forever and just let you hurt." 

"I'm not used to someone caring about me so much," Blair admitted. "Sometimes it freaks me out a little, you know?" 

"Hey, I'm not used to caring about someone so much," Jim replied, unconsciously scanning the squad room to see if anyone was eavesdropping on his conversation. "We're stumbling through this together, don't forget that." 

"Somehow I don't think I can," Blair said wryly. "So are we cool or what?" 

"I'm cool," Jim said with a superior sigh. "You, Sandburg, are definitely in the category of 'or what.'" 

"You're a laugh a minute there, Jim." 

Jim heard a knock on the door of Blair's office, then the sound of a young, female voice asking if *Mr.* Sandburg had a minute. Jim could almost feel the heat of her schoolgirl's blush over the phone lines. He grinned wickedly. "One of your little co-eds need some private lessons, Professor?" 

"No more so than your bombshell," Blair muttered in reply. To the girl he said, "Find a seat, Sara. I'll be right with you." 

"Oh, touche, Chief, touche," Jim said, laughing. "Hey, I'm not hanging up 'til you say it." 

"They play this conversation at your next review, and you're going to regret the power play," Blair warned. 

Jim laughed. "You know us cops. Always living on the edge. Come on, Babe. The three little words. I want 'em." 

"Come on, man, I've gotta go." 

"Penance for being so mean to me this morning," Jim said, ducking his head to keep from blinding the office with his smile. 

Blair sighed, like one made to suffer much in this life, then whispered in a voice only a Sentinel could hear, "Love you." 

Jim's smile widened, then he rolled his eyes when he realized he was coloring in a giant heart. He scribbled over the drawing and said, "Hey Blair?" 

"What?" 

"That was only two words." He laughed at the sudden click and dial tone and didn't even care that it prompted questioning stares from the others nearby. Still grinning, Jim dug out one of his case files and opened it up, thinking to himself that whoever coined the phrase 'crazy about you,' knew exactly what he was talking about.  
  


* * *

Graves continued to torment Blair for the next two days. He placed phone call after phone call, providing a sadistic countdown until the arrival of Martin Biggins. 

On top of everything, something was really wrong with his stomach, something worse than just the simple recurrence of the ulcer. He could barely keep anything down, and now he had a fever. The world seemed vague and unreal. Taking a shower or making breakfast suddenly took extraordinary amounts of energy. It was like walking around with his arms perpetually full, and every time he leaned over to pick something up, another piece fell to the floor. 

He'd begged off his classes for the day and laid on the couch, feeling as though he should be making decisions, but lacking the energy to do anything but sit there. If only he could sleep, he thought idly. Just= sleep for a few hours without the dreams, without waking at every stray sound positive, *positive* that Biggins had somehow made it into the loft. 

Shit, a few more days and he'd be as crazy as Graves. 

Jim was trying to hang back, but watching him restrain his natural impulse to jump in and fix things was almost more stressful than the efforts Blair was making to keep him in the dark. He knew it was an exercise in futility anyway. Shit, why hadn't they just kept everything the same? Why had he pushed and prodded the older man into making a move when he *knew* it would only end in heartache. If only they'd kept everything platonic, he could have told Jim about Biggins and Graves and everything else. But now it was too hard. It was impossible. 

All he could do was wait. 

Jim came home early, looking pinched and worried, but resolved not to ask questions. He fixed Blair some soup, chatting easily about a missing person's case he was convinced was a guy who just up and walked out on his girlfriend. 

Everything seemed fine until the phone rang. Blair knew it was Graves calling with the latest Biggins update. No doubt Graves thought Jim was still at work. Eyes wide with terror, Blair stood up, violently shaking his head at Jim. "Don't!" he said. 

Jim looked at him like he just sprouted horns. Blair knew if Jim picked up that phone, Graves would tell him everything, and it would be over. Jim took the single step needed to be within reach of the receiver. 

"Don't!" Blair cried again, scrambling up from the table. 

Frowning at him, Jim picked up the receiver and Blair heard a resounding inner snap, as if whatever had been keeping him from a complete breakdown suddenly gave way. He screamed, a sound that raised the hairs on Jim's neck and flung the soup bowl at the phone. "Jesus!" Jim shouted, ducking enough that the bowl missed his head. Chicken noodle soup splashed down his side. "Blair, what the hell is wrong with you?!" he bellowed. 

Blair choked on a gasp, looking far more stunned at what he had done than Jim did. He looked from the phone in Jim's hand, to the wall, to the glass shards of the soup bowl. "I'm sorry," he whispered in a horrified voice. "Oh god, I'm sorry!" He blundered backward out of the kitchen, then turned tail and sprinted out the front door. 

"Ellison," he said faintly into the phone, then kindly informed the caller that he was not interested in a VISA card with the remarkable introductory interest rate of six and a half percent. He slammed the phone on the hook, then followed Blair at the front door. 

Blair wasn't trying to hide from him--not that he could if he wanted to. He'd headed up to the roof of the building and Jim took the stairs two at a time, wondering what in the hell was going on with his usually amiable lover. 

Blair was leaning up against a wall, head back, eyes closed. His face was wet and raw with tears and Jim's heart started thudding ominously against his rib cage. Suddenly it was impossible to swallow. "Blair?" Blair must have known he was there. He didn't jump or even open his eyes. "What's wrong?" 

Eyes still closed, Blair slowly shook his head. "It's okay," he said quietly. "Jim, I knew it wouldn't last. I know you tried. I know you never meant to hurt me; I know you wish it could be different. I know all that, okay?" 

Jim's heart, thundering out of control a moment before, now threatened to stop completely. "What are you talking about?" 

"God, I'm so tired," Blair sighed. "All I want in the world is to sleep through the night. I just want to sleep, Jim." Tears started down his cheeks again. 

"Tell me what's wrong," Jim whispered. "Tell me how to help you. Please Blair, tell me what to do." 

Blair shook his head and started rocking steadily. "The good ones make you go away and the bad ones make you stay, and you can't....you can't change it, Jim. Just when you think everything's perfect, the bad man will come back and hurt you again. It was my fault for forgetting. I shouldn't have forgotten, so, see, it's my fault. You don't have to feel bad anymore, or keep looking at me all sad. It wasn't you, Jim. It was me. It's always been me." 

Jim ran a shaking hand over his buzz cut. He could feel Blair's increased temperature from a foot away, and his cheeks were bright with fever. But he wasn't warm enough to blame his state on delirium. Jim finally crouched down so he was face to face with Blair. "You're scaring me, Blair," he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. "Come inside with me. Please, come inside." 

"It's just as well, you know," Blair whispered, hugging himself against the chills now wracking his body. "He's coming back and if I....if we were....you know....he might hurt you, but this way it's better, see?" 

"Who's coming back?" Jim said, resisting the urge to shake Blair by the shoulders. "Martin Biggins? Is that what this is about? Who is he? Why are you so afraid of him?: 

Blair shook his head, his movements still on that odd taped delay. "The good ones go away. They always go away." 

Jim reached out a tentative hand and touched Blair's arm. "I don't know what you're talking about," he whispered. "I don't know what's going on. Help me out here. You're my Guide, right? No matter what, you're my Guide. Help me understand!" 

"I'm so tired," Blair whispered. "I just want to sleep. That's all I want....." 

"Okay, Baby," Jim answered. He held his hands out to Blair, and when the younger man refused to take them, he gently lifted Blair to a standing position. "We're going to sleep, now." 

"But the bad man," Blair said brokenly. "Someone's gotta watch for the bad man." 

"I'll watch," Jim promised. "I won't let anyone hurt you, I promise." 

Mumbling incoherently, Blair let Jim lead him back in the loft. Blair started toward the couch, but Jim steered him over to the stairs. "We're going to sleep," Jim said softly, talking to Blair as if he was a scared child. 

Blair looked confused. "But...I thought....I sleep on the couch...." 

"You sleep with me," Jim said, his voice choking at Blair's lost, almost childlike, demeanor. He's just sick, Jim told himself. The flu or something. He'll be better in the morning and we'll sort all of this out then.  
  


* * *

The next morning, Blair crept out of bed early. He was downstairs reading the paper when Jim woke up. 

He sighed, listening to Blair methodically turning pages. He wasn't really reading, just flipping listlessly from page to page. 

What in the hell was going on? Jim wondered. He couldn't remember ever feeling so helpless. Correction, yes he could, but then he'd found Blair, and the jovial young grad student had restored him from the chaos that was fast overtaking him. Blair was the one who fixed things. *He* was the bull in the china shop, blundering over people while Blair followed patiently behind, smiling and offering excuses, explaining away Jim's brusqueness with an easy smile and a good-natured shrug. Blair took care of things like this. How in the *hell* was he supposed to handle this? 

There was sudden movement from downstairs and Jim listened with a heavy heart as Blair hurried to the bathroom. As if the emotional meltdown wasn't bad enough, Blair was really getting sick. 

Jim got out of bed and padded downstairs. "Hey, Blair, can I do anyth...." He pushed open the bathroom door, and his heart dropped to his feet. "Jesus Christ, Blair, that's blood!" he cried, the bright red in the toilet almost blinding him. Blair spun around, his face flooded with guilt. 

"I'm fine!" he said, his voice hoarse from retching. 

"You're not fine!" Jim yelled. "My god, you're vomiting blood! Come on, we're going to the hospital." 

Blair shook his head, backing away from Jim in what little space there was in the bathroom. "I'm okay," he insisted. "Look, I have an ulcer. I've had it for years. Sometimes it acts up. No big deal." 

"Your *stomach* has a fucking hole in it that's bleeding!" Jim said, incredulous that they were even having this discussion. "I'd say that's a big deal, Blair." 

Blair grimaced in displeasure, pushing Jim out of the way so he could brush his teeth. "If you'd been lugging around my sorry gut for the last five years you probably wouldn't think so," he said wryly. "I haven't been eating right the past few weeks, and...." 

"You haven't been eating at *all,*" Jim said accusingly. "You've got a fever, and now this! Come on, we're going to the doctor." 

It was getting so hard to think, Blair thought distractedly. But he knew he couldn't leave the house. The bad man was coming any day and he had to stay awake. He had to protect Jim for as long as he could. Martin was coming and Daniel took pictures with cameras that could shoot bullets and he was trying to take Jim away from him. And the good ones made you leave. He had to stay awake. He had to stay home. He didn't realize he'd been speaking his thoughts aloud. 

He felt another round of sickness coming and ineffectually pushed at Jim to leave him alone. He shuddered violently, gripping the sides of the toilet bowl to stay upright. His shoulders rolled mercilessly as he choked and sputtered. His lips were blue, and he struggled between dry heaves to catch his breath. "Nothing comes up anymore," he whispered in confusion, his eyes vague and unfocused. "Nothing comes up." 

Blair started choking again, gasping for air in between retching. With a muttered, "Fuck!" Jim ran upstairs to dress and grab some clothes for Blair. While upstairs he dialed the office, getting Simon on the first ring. "Um, look Simon, I'm going to be a little late today, okay?" he said, knowing his voice was not only shaking but several decibels louder than necessary. 

"Jim, what's wrong?" Simon asked, instantly concerned. 

"It's Blair," Jim said, though he thought he was going to say 'Nothing.' "Simon, something's really wrong. He says he's got this ulcer, but he's got a fever, and he was vomiting blood, and now he's dry heaving all over the place, and I'm trying to get him to go to the hospital, and he's talking all crazy about something, and I can't..." 

"Calm down," Simon soothed, instantly in charge. "I'll have an ambulance there in five minutes and you can...." 

"Thanks, Simon, but with Blair's state of mind, I think it would upset him even more. I can get him to Mercy General." I think. 

"All right. I'll meet you there." Simon clicked off before Jim could tell him not to come. His tone had said the point wasn't up for debate, and Jim felt like he needed the moral support. 

Jogging downstairs, Jim felt a momentary flash of panic as the sound of Blair gasping through a brief respite from the sickness. "Oh God," Jim whispered at the sight of Blair, hunched over the toilet. His face was deathly white and blood dribbled from his chin in shocking contrast to his pale skin. 

Waiting until the vomiting stopped, Jim held out the clothes to the younger man. Blair looked at them blankly, touching the shirt as if he'd never seen it before. "We're going to the hospital," Jim repeated, in a voice that said he would accept no arguments. Blair didn't seem to understand him so none were offered. 

Weak and unresponsive now, Blair let Jim dress him, but as they moved toward the door, he seemed to realize where they were heading and froze in his tracks. "I'm okay," he said vaguely and tried to pull away from Jim's hold. "I'll just....I'll just sleep for awhile." 

"It's okay," Jim soothed, prodding him out the door, half carrying, half supporting him. He helped him into the truck and fastened his seat belt. 

Blair looked at Jim with enormous eyes, bright with fever and clouded with fear. "They send you away when you get sick," Blair whispered. "They can't have trouble. You have to be good. You have to be good or they send you away. Martin will know. He'll know if you're sick and then you get in trouble." 

Jim winced and angrily blinked away tears. Why had he let this go? 

He gruffly cleared his throat a number of times before he could trust himself to speak. "You're not in trouble, Blair," he said softly. "Everything's okay. Just....close your eyes and try to rest, everything's going to be fine." 

Jim used the siren and lights on the way to the hospital, parking out front and dragging Blair with him in to the ER. One look at the kid and two attendings whisked him out of sight while a nurse shoved form after form in front of Jim. Every one of them asked the same questions over and over again and he began to suspect it was a ploy to keep worried family members occupied so they wouldn't keep bugging the staff. 

Simon joined him moments later. "Any word?" he asked, tossing his overcoat on a plastic chair and sitting down next to the detective. 

Jim worked his jaw muscle and ran his hand over the stubble on his jaw as he shook his head. "What the hell could be taking so long?" he muttered, glancing at his watch for the fifth time in so many minutes. 

"You want me to go ask?" Simon offered, surprised when Jim violently shook his head. Jim was embarrassed, but said nothing, unable to explain that hearing *nothing* was better than hearing bad news. 

"Jeez, Simon, the kid just had a core meltdown all of a sudden. One minute everything's fine, the next he's coughing up a lung and going on about some guy named Martin who's coming to hurt him." 

"And you have no idea who this Martin is?" 

Jim shook his head again, pursing his lips in disapproval. "The one time I asked him for an explanation he blew up and stormed out." 

"Sandburg?" Simon said. Sure the kid was flaky, but hotheaded he was not. 

Jim shrugged as if to say, 'I can't figure it out either.' "I don't know Simon. I've been....out of touch this week. Blair may talk nonstop, but he never says a hell of a lot, you know? You've got to pay attention to catch the important stuff, and I haven't been paying attention." 

Simon bit back a grin, but there was no time to say anything. Finally a smiling young woman, looking no older than Blair, approached, offering her hand and introducing herself as Dr. Mitzahki. 

"Blair's going to be fine," she said and Jim felt his lungs fully expand for the first time in two days. 

He chuckled and mumbled something that sounded like, "That damn kid'll be the death of me yet." He shook his head at some inner conversation before looking at the doctor and grinning weakly at his consummate relief. "He...he seemed so sick," he said with a shrug. 

Dr. Mitzahki looked at the file in her lap and said, "Well, he is," she said good-naturedly. "There's a hole in his stomach lining which in turn became infected. He's dehydrated and his blood pressure is all over the place. We're giving him a stronger ulcer medication, feeding him liquids through an IV, pumping antibiotics into his system. We'll admit him for the night, but provided his temperature comes down a few degrees, he should be able to go home tomorrow morning." 

"Can I see him?" Jim asked, standing up like she'd already answered his question. 

The doctor smiled at Jim's take-charge nature. "We've sedated him so he'll only be awake for a few minutes, but you can see him before you go." 

Jim took a couple of steps, then stopped and turned back to Simon. "Hey, thanks for coming, Captain. Could I, uh....ask another favor?" 

"Why not," Simon said. "I'm feeling generous." 

Jim's grin was a bit lame. His ears turned a flaming red as he suddenly became very interested in the pattern on the hospital floor. "Would you, uh, see if you can dig up any information on a guy named Martin Biggins? All I have is the name, so it's like searching for a needle...." 

Simon shrugged. "I haven't been fishing in awhile," he said. "I'll throw in a line or two and see what comes up." 

Jim smiled, his shoulders relaxing with relief. "Thanks," he said again, then purposefully walked to Blair's room. He tiptoed in, as if he had to be careful not only of Blair, but of the space around him as well. He winced and clinched his teeth. There was a little color back in Blair's face, but it looked like it was due to the flush of fever on his cheek. An IV was plugged into each arm. The weight he'd lost in the past few weeks was painfully obvious. 

"Oh, there's that tell-tale twitch in the jaw," Blair teased, after slowly opening his eyes. "Mmm, I don't know what they gave me, Big Man, but I am feeling *no* pain." 

"Good," Jim said quietly, leaning down to kiss Blair's heated forehead. "I don't want you to hurt." 

Blair sighed as Jim softly nuzzled his nose. "I'm really sorry," he said. 

"You didn't get sick on purpose. But when you get home we're going to have a long talk about what you can keep to yourself and what's gotta be open knowledge, okay?" 

Blair shrugged and nodded. "If you say so," he mumbled. 

"I say so," Jim answered. "Hey, where's Naomi this month? Her number still by the phone?" 

"Why?" Blair asked. 

Jim looked like he thought the question a strange one. "Well, so I can call her and tell her you're in the hospital." 

Profound confusion from the younger man. "Why?" 

Jim sighed but didn't say anything, he just continued stroking Blair's forehead and cheek. Why indeed. 

Blair took a deep breath, glad his stomach no longer hurt so much. But it was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open. He couldn't remember the exact reason why, but he knew he wasn't supposed to go to sleep. He had to make sure of something. What was that? Man, it sure was hard to think. He forced his eyes open again, but it was so hard with Jim there, petting his hair and whispering at him to let go and fall asleep. 

Memory came flooding back and Blair tensed then tossed in the bed, threatening to disconnect the IV's. "Whoa, there Chief, calm down!" Jim soothed. 

"Somebody's gotta watch for Martin!" Blair whispered, the room swimming dizzily. "He's coming back. We've gotta watch, man. Somebody's always gotta be watching!" 

"It's time for you to sleep," Jim said gently. "I'll watch, Blair. I'll keep watch and I'll make sure no one hurts you." 

Finally the drugs took hold, and Blair slept. Jim sat at his side for a long time, holding his hand, sensing the decline in his temperature, and wondering how Simon was faring in the search for the identity of one Martin Biggins.  
  


* * *

Waiting for Naomi to return his call, Jim tidied the already pristine loft. He assumed she'd fly in immediately, so he might as well get the place cleaned up. When the phone finally rang, Jim grabbed before the first ring ended. 

"Jim? It's Naomi!" she said, her voice perky and light, not at all concerned that Jim and not Blair had placed a call to her. "How are you?" 

"I'm....I'm fine," Jim said, then had to gruffly clear his throat. "Um, Naomi, I'm sorry to be calling about this....that is....well, it's nothing serious, but....Blair's in the hospital." 

"The hospital?" Naomi repeated, her tone curious, as if Jim just told her Blair was off visiting some unheard of jungle tribe. 

"Yes. I guess he....he's got this ulcer, and it was acting up and he's been upset about....well, about a lot of things and I guess everything just kind of ganged up on him and so, they're keeping him for a couple of days." 

"Oh, I see." Now she sounded, if anything, a little confused. "Well, um, Jim, do you need something from me? Medical history or something like that?" 

Jim mouth gaped. He'd assumed Naomi would be worried. Angry even at Jim for not realizing sooner that something was wrong. Suddenly Blair's confused "Why?" when Jim told him he was calling Naomi seemed perfectly understandable. 

"Uh, no, no, I guess not," Jim said hastily. "I just thought you should know." 

"Poor Blair, that stomach of his has been acting up since he was knee high. Such a little worrier that one. You tell him I hope he feels better." 

Jim ran a hand through his bristled hair. "Yeah, okay. Hey, listen Naomi, tell me something. Who's Martin Biggins?" 

Silence greeted the question. "Why do you ask?" Naomi finally said hesitantly. 

"Because Blair keeps going on and on about some guy named Martin Biggins. He gets all worked up, and then when I ask him about it, he clams up. I just wondered if you knew who he was." 

"I hardly think it's important," Naomi said dismissively, speaking so quickly, Jim's cop sense was immediately activated. 

"If you saw how upset it made Blair, maybe you'd think differently," Jim said, unable to keep a note of disapproval from his tone. 

Naomi picked up on it. "Look Jim, Blair studies too hard. He gets all involved in his work, and he doesn't sleep, and he doesn't eat right and every once in awhile this just....happens. He'll stay in the hospital a day or two, he'll sleep better and everything will be fine. There's no need to go stirring up trouble over a little something like this." 

Jim gripped the phone until his knuckles were white. He wanted to yell at Naomi that finding Blair vomiting blood into a toilet was hardly a little something, but that would get him nowhere and might upset Blair which was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. He took a deep breath and forced it out slowly so his voice was calm and level when he asked, "What can you tell me about Martin Biggins?" 

When she answered, Naomi's voice was neither calm, nor level. "I'm, um, I'm late for an appointment, Jim," she said hurriedly. "I've got to run. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Maybe....maybe we can talk some other time, okay? Okay? Now you be sure to give Blair my love and tell him I'll talk to him soon. Good bye now." 

There was a click and Jim took the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a long time. He called the hospital and spoke to a nurse who assured him Blair would sleep clear through until morning, then jumped in the truck and drove to the station. 

Simon was watching for him, rising and joining Jim at his desk. His face was schooled with disinterest, which Jim found more disturbing than if he had looked worried or upset. "Find anything?" he asked. His heart twisted when Simon nodded and motioned him into his office. 

"Wasn't too hard to find the man," Simon said. "He's got a rap sheet as long as my arm. He's currently incarcerated in a New Mexico prison for armed robbery. He's been in prison since '92. He's serving a 15 year sentence, not eligible for parole until 2005." 

"Blair would have been at the university in '92," Jim pointed out. "How would he know this guy?" 

Simon looked uncomfortable. "Jim, maybe you should wait until the kid feels like talking about it." 

"Yeah, well, knowing Blair that will be somewhere around the year 2010, and by then he won't have a stomach left. And I, for one, am not spending my golden years changing out some feeding tube." 

"Jesus, Jim, nice imagery," Simon complained. He was quiet for a moment. 

"Come on, Sir. I know you have more." 

Simon sighed and looked at the file on his desk. "Before '92, he served a three year sentence for assaulting a police officer with a baseball bat, that was '89 to '91, before that '85 to '87 there was two years for b&e. Okay, '82 to '83 he did a one year stint for robbery and then we've got '79 to '81 he did three years for assault with deadly intent. That was in Arizona." 

"I still don't see what any of this has to do with Blair," Jim said, immediately disliking the look that crossed the Captain's face. 

"Apparently, Biggins nearly killed an eight year old kid." 

Jim did the math and groaned. "Shit, Blair would have been eight in '79. You don't think...." 

Simon put a hand on Jim's shoulder. "That's as much as I've been able to dig up, Jim. You know better than to jump to conclusions. Maybe Blair was friends with the kid that got hurt, maybe it happened in front of him, there's a million different things that could have happened...." 

Jim covered his eyes with his hand, struggling to maintain control. His throat felt tight and he had a sudden urge to heave Simon's desk over on its side. Simon hadn't seen Blair's terror, his hysteria. There was only one explanation for it, and now all that was left was the confirmation. He took several deep breaths and as soon as he felt reasonably calm, went back to his desk, picked up the phone and called the Flagstaff police department. Three phone calls later, including one to the Flagstaff Herald, Jim was standing next to the fax machine, pulling off police reports and newspaper articles. 

Through the glass window of his office, Simon could see Jim visibly pale as he started reading the information. Jim's hands clinched tightly around the paper, his jaw muscle working overtime. It didn't take long for Simon to realize the man was zoning out. As unobtrusively as possible, Simon walked to his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. He spoke Jim's name in a quiet voice until his eyes cleared. 

"Mother fucking son of a bitch!" Jim spat out under his breath. "That fucking piece of shit is mine. All fucking mine." He shoved the faxes into Simon's hands and brushed blindly past him. 

Simon read the details, face drawn with displeasure. It was a scenario he had witnessed too many times to remember, but it never failed to horrify him all over again, as if it was the first time he'd seen it. Apparently, teachers at Blair's school had suspected he was being abused--he was showing up for classes with bruises on his arms and neck, once with a black eye. Normally outgoing and engaging, he had become sullen and unresponsive. Several conferences with his mother had yielded no pertinent information. Then one morning, Blair was found in the coat room, curled up in a ball, and internally hemorrhaging. His face was a battlefield and he had three cracked ribs, one of which had punctured his spleen. He was rushed to the hospital and later that day, his mother's boyfriend, Martin Biggins, with whom they lived, was arrested and charged with assault. Simon inwardly repeated the line he'd heard since his first days with the department, 'You need a license to catch fish, but any bastard can raise a child....'  
  


* * *

Jim knew Simon erroneously assumed he had been cursing Martin Biggins when he stormed out of the office. True, the report had sickened him. A grown man, beating on a little kid like that. Jesus, they should have fucking shot him and been done with it. His heart ached for that little boy in the picture; a tiny eight year old with enormous, frightened eyes. Jim swallowed against a surge of bile and anger so black it threatened to blind him. How could Naomi stay with a man who had hurt Blair? Why wouldn't he have told Jim about it? Why wouldn't she? Christ, what was wrong with a world that could produce a man like Martin Biggins? 

Jim let these thoughts wander idly through his brain while his truest and deepest anger festered in his gut. Knowing who Biggins was hadn't really provided him with the clues he needed. Okay, so some sadistic piece of shit had terrorized Blair as a child, but what did that have to do with his hysteria now? It wasn't until Jim was on the phone with the records clerk at the newspaper did it all fall in to place. 

"Boy, this Martin Biggins character sure is popular this week," she said, after taking down Jim's fax number. 

"What do you mean?" Jim asked so quickly the clerk seemed taken aback. 

"Oh, well, you know, first the FBI guy and then you. I guess Biggins is a suspect in a lot of different crimes these days." 

Jim's heart suddenly thundered out of control, but his voice remained calm. "Ah, the FBI is looking into him as well, huh?" he asked, keeping his voice casual. 

"Yeah. I talked to one of the guys up near you. I think he said Biggins was suspected in some bank robberies in Seattle or something. I can't really remember. I just know he wanted copies of all the stories from back in '79. Kind of funny both of you investigating him." 

"Yeah, funny," Jim said and quickly rang off. The zone out started then as he began mulling over precisely how Daniel Graves was going to pay for what he had done to Blair.  
  


* * *

Jim watched Daniel Graves walk up to the door of his town home and unlock the door. He focused his hearing on the condo, noting that Graves didn't lock the door behind him. 

"Mistake one, you fucker," Jim thought to himself. He heard the man walk upstairs and change his clothes, heard him dial the phone--the unmistakably familiar tones of Jim's own number. Of course there was no answer. Graves slammed the phone down and muttered an epithet. 

Jim crept up the walk and listened again when he got to the door. Graves was still upstairs puttering around. Jim let himself in the front door and stood in the middle of the family room. 

Graves jogged down the stairs, stopping short at the sight of Jim. His face flooded with rage. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" he asked, coming forward in threatening anger. "Do you have any idea how fucking stupid you are? Breaking and entering the home of a federal agent? I'll have your ass for this, *Detective.*" 

"The door was open," Jim said coldly. 

"You're still standing, uninvited, in my home," Graves replied. "Get out." 

Uncontrollable anger surged through Jim that this....this *fucker* should say *anything* to him! With a roar, Jim flung himself at the startled man. Wrapping his arms around him from behind, Jim shoved Graves' face against the wall. "Shut up!" He screamed. "Shut up you mother fucking piece of SHIT! You are going to listen and listen good!" 

Graves struggled against Jim's hold, but Black Ops training was no match for Quantico's. Realizing he couldn't physically release himself, Graves tried reason. "Let me go, Detective," he said, struggling for a normal voice. "Let me go, and I'll be willing to forget this little....incident." 

"No *sir!*" Jim said, shoving him against the wall to emphasize his point. "I want you to remember this for a long, long time!" He released his hold, shoving Graves to the floor and resisting every urge in his body that screamed at him to kick the son of a bitch in the stomach. Let him experience some of Blair's pain for once in his fucked up life. 

Graves scrambled out of Jim's range, but stopped short of standing up. Jim, his face red with rage, pointed his finger at Graves as he shouted, "The only thing keeping me from wiping the floor with you is Blair! I want you to know that, you fucker. Internalize it. Think about it when you're lying in that cold, empty bed of yours. If I thought it would make one *second* of his life easier, you would be a fucking bloody *pulp* when I walk out of here! But that's not gonna help Blair, so thanks to him, you're fucking off that hook." 

Graves' face screwed up with such disgust, he looked as if he were going to vomit. "You talking to me about what would help Blair. That's a joke! A fucking cosmic *joke,* Detective. You telling *me* what he needs. What he wants! You have no idea..." 

"Shut up!" Jim screamed, surging forward again. "I don't want to hear you mention his name! You're nothing to him, do you understand me? Nothing!" 

"I love him!" Graves shouted, struggling to his feet. 

"Shut up!" Jim shoved him backward as hard as he could, forcing himself to turn and walk away when Graves hit the wall and went down in a heap. "You love him, that's just sick, Graves, *SICK!* If you love him so much, tell me why he's flat on his back at Mercy General, fucking tubes stuck all over him, fucking puking BLOOD every time he turns around!" 

Halfway to standing, Daniel Graves froze. His face turned deathly pale and for a moment it appeared as if he forgot how to breath. Stunned, Jim was certain he was going to pass out. Then he took a deep, shuddering breath, slowly shaking his head back and forth. "No....no, I never.....I never hurt him," Daniel said vaguely, walking like a zombie toward the center of the room. Jim suddenly worried that he'd given the man a concussion. "He wasn't supposed to.....supposed to get hurt. I never hurt him...." 

"What did you tell him about Martin Biggins?" Jim asked, his voice raw from shouting. Fists clinched, arms rigid at his side, he was going to make Daniel Graves face what he'd done. "What did you tell him, you fucking monster?" 

"No!" Graves whispered, whipping around, eyes suddenly desperate, begging Jim to understand. "He was.....he was supposed to come home to me. I never wanted him to be hurt." 

"You knew what that animal did to him! You knew what happened and you still made him think he was coming back. How could you do that to him? How could you do it?" 

Daniel hugged his arms around his body, shivering as if a sweep of arctic wind had blown through the townhouse. "Blair should be with me," Graves whispered brokenly. "I'm the one who loves him. I'm the one who'll take care of him. Blair belongs with me." 

"Well right now he's in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer," Jim said bitterly, "Compliments of the esteemed director of Seattle's FBI field office. Proud of yourself, Graves? You feel like a big man now?" 

Graves fell to his knees and let lose with a wail that was sheer agony. It reminded Jim of the mother of a kid who'd been shot to death on his way home from school. He was in uniform then, and had to inform the next of kin. The mother had crumpled to the floor and moaned, a long low sound of mourning that cut clear through the officer. 

As the devastated mother had years ago, Daniel Graves began to sob. "I love him!" he wept. "Don't you understand? I love him! He's supposed to be with me! He's supposed to be with me." 

Now it was Jim's face drawn up with disgust. He went to the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets until he found a glass and a bottle of Jack Daniels. Sloshing JD in the glass, he slammed it down on the coffee table, then shoved Graves onto the couch. "Get a hold of yourself," Jim snapped, pushing the glass into Graves' hand. "Drink this." 

Pacing like a caged animal, Daniel waited for Graves to calm enough to understand what he was about to say. Unzipping his coat, Jim tossed a manila folder on to the coffee table. 

"Listen up," he said. It was important that he be calm through this part, that Graves understand this was not an emotional display. These were the rules and they were going to be followed. 

"I've got a clerk in Flagstaff willing to testify that you called her to request information about Biggins. I've got phone records of the countless calls to my office, and if I have to I'll get a court order to show the calls to our place and Blair's office, to the Flagstaff PD, and to the Herald. Not only are you a shit, Graves, you're a stupid shit!" 

Shaking his head, rocking methodically, Graves wept, "I love him, don't you see? Don't you see? I love him!" 

Fifteen minutes earlier, Jim wouldn't have been satisfied with anything less than Graves' ass in a jail cell, but faced with this pathetic excuse, he wavered. Now he rather understood Blair's tacit pity for the broken man; Blair's willingness to believe that maybe he could pull it together and move on. Jesus. 

Pacing some more, Jim ran his hand over his bristled hair and thought for a few minutes. "Finish that!" Jim ordered, motioning at the half drunk scotch. "Okay, here's how it's going to be. You're overworked, Graves. Overworked and heading for a fall. You're going to take an extended leave of absence from the Bureau. I don't care where you go, but you're taking in-patient treatment from somewhere and it's not in the state of Washington. I'm sure there's a nice facility near Quanitco for all you whacked out feds. Two months, guaranteed out of the state. I don't care what happens after that, but you're not coming back here. Let 'em reinstate you on the east coast, or down south, or down in desert country, I don't care. Not Washington. You are not to see Blair or call him or contact him in any way. *Ever.* If I suspect that you're *thinking* about him, I'm packing up my goodie bag and sending it to your HQ and every major newspaper in the good old USA." 

At first, Jim didn't think Graves heard. He just continued rocking and shaking his head. "Please," he finally whispered. "I have to see him, I have to explain....to make him understand." 

"No," Jim said coldly. "Not a chance, Graves. You've done enough for this lifetime. I want to be notified after you've stepped down. I don't care how you pull that off, but if I don't have word by the end of the week, you're finished. Now, Agent Graves, do *you* understand?" 

More rocking. Slowly, Graves began to nod. "I understand," he rasped brokenly. 

"Good," Jim muttered and turned to go. 

"I love him," Graves whispered emptily. "I love him the only way I know how." 

Jim turned his hearing down as low as it would go, but when he slammed the door behind him, he still heard Graves break down again and begin to sob. The animosity Jim had felt toward the man had almost completely vanished, replaced with a detached kind of pity. Too bad and all that, but at least he and Blair could get on with their lives. 

To be sure, there were a few things left to settle, but there was a definite light at the end of that long, dark tunnel.  
  


* * *

The sensation of waking in a hospital bed was familiar enough to Blair that there was no confusion. He woke up, feeling tired and slightly nauseous from the sedative they'd given him. He sighed and carefully turned his head when a warm hand squeezed his arm. "There are quicker and more humane ways of giving me a heart attack," Jim teased, casting his eyes toward the door before giving Blair's cheek a quick peck. 

"Sorry," Blair said hoarsely. "Just my little way of keeping things interesting." 

"Work on boring for awhile," Jim suggested. "As a personal favor to me. The guy who loves you. Remember me?" 

Blair smiled and reached out to touch Jim's scruffy cheek. "You look tired," he said. "You stay here all night?" 

Jim nodded. "I've done enough sleeping in that big empty bed all by myself," he said with a mock shudder." 

Another weak smile. Blair pushed his hair from his face with a shaking hand. "Am I getting out of here today?" 

Jim sighed inwardly. Blair didn't seem capable of even feigning good humor which wasn't like him at all. Jim realized that he had never seen Blair really down about anything. Never. He nodded in answer to Blair's question. "Provided you agree to stay on the medication as long as the doctor wants you to." 

"I think I can do that," Blair said softly. He played absently with the frayed edges of his bed sheet, eyes hidden from Jim's searching gaze. "Hey, Jim, I'm sorry for being so much trouble," he said, blushing furiously. "I just....I mean, I feel really stupid about all the crazy things I was saying and I just....it's so....I mean, you're busy enough and...." 

"Hey, Chief? Let's talk about it when we get home," Jim suggested gently, afraid that Blair was getting worked up again and the doctor might decide to keep him over another night. Blair needed to be home with him. With his lover. His blessed protector. 

Blair nodded and shrugged and even though he was pretty sure Jim was going to tell him things weren't working out, he let the big man help him into his clothes. And then he let him field the list of instructions from the doctor and let him lead him to the truck with a possessive hand on his arm. And when they got home, he let Jim help him into the loft and steer him to the couch. 

They'd given him another dose of medication right before they left the hospital and while he wasn't sleepy exactly, he wasn't altogether there either. Jim figured the smoothing effects of the drugs made this a perfect time to start talking. "Daniel Graves won't be bothering us anymore," he began in his steady voice. "He's taking a leave of absence from the Bureau to get a little counseling near Quantico, Virginia." 

"Really?" Blair said incredulously. 

"Really," Jim answered. "We won't be hearing from him again, I promise you that." 

"Really?" Blair repeated, scratching the side of his head, as if he should remember something about this turn of events. 

Jim nodded, unsure of how to continue, uncertain of Blair's reaction. He gently sat down next to Blair and reached out for his hand. He winced when Blair jumped, but brought the cold hand to his lips and kissed it. "I did some checking," he said as gently as he could. "And I want you to know that Martin Biggins is in prison, serving a 15 year term for armed robbery." Blair went rigid at the mention of the bad man's name and tried to withdraw his hand from Jim's. But Jim tightened his hold just slightly, and continued talking. "He won't be eligible for parole for another five years. He doesn't know where you are, and he can't hurt you. Not now, not ever." 

"I'm sorry," Blair whispered, brokenly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't....I wasn't sure how to.....when.....I'm sorry." 

"You didn't do anything wrong!" Jim said quickly, his heart twisting at the thought of Blair carrying around any guilt where that monster was concerned. "Everything's fine now. Everything's just fine." 

Eyes closed, Blair leaned his head back on the couch. "Great," he snorted derisively, half-heartedly swiping at the tear trailing down his cheek. "Three weeks of hell, I end up in the hospital, and you solve everything in one night. Perfect, just perfect." 

"Why didn't you come to me?" Jim asked, hoping there was nothing accusatory in his tone. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

Blair kept shaking his head, reminding Jim of Daniel Graves. "God, I'm so fucked up," he whispered to himself. 

"Don't say that!" Jim angrily choked out. "Don't ever say that!" Blair sighed and kept shaking his head. Jim tried again. "Blair, I love you. You can tell me anything, you know that. I want to....to help you." 

Blair shook his head and hugged himself tightly. "I just wanted it to last a little longer," he said. "What's so awful about that? I just wanted it to last a little longer. I wanted you to think I was....I wanted you to want me for a little while longer." 

Jim carefully laid his hand on Blair's shoulder. "Blair, you sound as if you thought my feelings would change if I knew what had happened. You know that's impossible. Impossible." 

Blair knew no such thing. He shook his head. "It's dirty," he whispered. "It's dirty and ugly and sordid and men like you don't stick around with....with guys like me." 

Jim's hand fell to his side as he began to glimpse the true reasons behind Blair's behavior. He thought of the time--two times--he had slammed Blair against a wall and the countless times he had swatted at him, restrained him, manhandled him. He kept seeing the hurt in Blair's eyes when he ignored him or unceremoniously dismissed one of his ideas. He thought of the way Blair swallowed and shrugged and smiled like he didn't care and all the time he must have been thinking he was dirty and ugly and sordid. And that men like Jim wouldn't stick around. 

"What about all those promises I've made," Jim said softly, wondering with a flash of panic what he could say to make Blair see how very wrong he was. "Did you think I was lying?" 

"No!" Blair instantly denied, turning finally to look up at Jim's eyes. "I always knew you believed what you were saying. But that....that doesn't mean I believe it. Jim, look at yourself. You're like....one of the best cops in the state; hell, probably the entire US. You're a walking advertisement for GQ, you only have to walk in to a room to own it. To *own* it, Jim. The world's yours, man. And then there's me. I mean, hey, I have no illusions about where I fit on Darwin's food chain, you know? I've always thought one of the....one of the good things about me is that I know myself. What I can do, what I can't. What I can have. What I can't. Believe me, Jim, you're about the very last thing in the universe I should have." 

In the face of such self-loathing, Jim felt tears sting his eyes. "Blair, you are the brightest, funniest, most beautiful man I have ever known." He whispered. "You stole my heart right out from under me the first time you looked up at me with those baby blue eyes of yours. You are *it* for me. I thought you knew that! How can you think for one minute that I find you anything but wonderful?" 

"Oh Jim, that sounds nice right now. But you'll start thinking about it. You'll....it'll be different now. You'll see me like he did-some....some stupid, bothersome...burden that you can't even stand to look at anymore. Daniel said I was damaged. Maybe he's right, maybe...." 

"I don't want to ever, *ever* hear you say anything like that again!" Jim said, thinking it was time for a little bit of anger. "And I sure as hell don't want to hear you quoting that fucker to me!" Blair flinched, so Jim immediately toned it down. "I love you! What Martin Biggins did to you when you were a little boy doesn't diminish you in my eyes." 

Blair shook his head, his eyes soft with compassion. Almost as if he was trying to let Jim down gently. "People look at you different when they know," he tried to explain. "Like they're waiting for you to explode or....or crumble into a thousand pieces. You're like a reminder of everything.... awful that happens in the world. And then, at some point you kind of start to believe that maybe you're not only a reminder, but you're.... like...responsible for the bad stuff. Like if only you were....smarter or-or taller or bigger or....or anything other than what you are that none of it would have happened in the first place. And you hear their voice in your head all the time, and they're calling you stupid and worthless and a cry baby, and they're asking you over again why you're making them do this to you. It's a mantra, man, everywhere you go-'why, why, why...' And you can't think of a reason, so it must be because you're stupid and worthless....." 

Tears burned Jim's eyes. "Please, Blair, you have to believe me," he whispered. "The student in there knows you weren't responsible for any of that shit. The man who's spent the last eight years studying people and what they do and why they do it. The anthropologist in there knows that little boy isn't responsible for what happened to him. Knows he wasn't tarnished by the terrible things Martin Biggins did." 

Blair gave a shaky laugh and ran his hand through is hair. "Maybe you should be the doctoral candidate," he said with an unsteady smile. 

"Yeah, I'd do great with all that University politics, wouldn't I?" Jim teased. He reached over and brushed Blair's hair out of his face, tucking a strand behind his ear. Feeling handled and oddly pressured, Blair gently pushed Jim's hand away. He needed some time to get his bearings, to figure some things out. It seemed incomprehensible that 24 hours ago he'd been at core meltdown and now every single thing that was barreling down on him was completely taken care of. Shit, just how incompetent was he? 

"How did....when....*why* did Daniel resign?" Blair asked finally. 

Jim shrugged noncommittally. "We had a little talk and came to the agreement that a change of scenery would be best for him. For all of us." 

"How did....how did you know....." 

"I'm a detective," Jim said smoothly. "It's not just what I do, Blair. It's what I am. You can't hide things from me--I don't know why you even bother. You should have told me what was going on with Graves. You should have told me about Biggins." 

Jim's paternal condescension really irked Blair. He jumped up from the couch and whirled to face his partner. "When, Jim?" he asked, his voice surprisingly angry. "When the *fuck* would have been a good time to say, 'Guess what? My mom's boyfriend used to beat the crap out of me! One time he nearly killed me and got hauled off to jail for his trouble!' When was the appropriate time? After you told me about the fucking Father Knows Best camping trips your dad used to take you on? Right after a nice warm story about your mom baking cookies for the *fucking* PTA? You tell me when I should have brought it up!" 

Jim took a breath and concentrated to keep his voice calm and level. Blair was barely holding on here, and Jim had no idea what might finally push him over the edge. "When Graves said he was going to tell that bastard where you were," he said softly. "That's when you should have told me." 

"I'm not like you!" Blair said hotly. "I'm not perfect! The perfect soldier, the perfect detective, the perfect man, the fucking perfect Sentinel! I'm not like you and I'm never going to be!" 

"Oh yeah, Chief, I've been a real prize the last couple of weeks. Boy, it's a shame they can't clone old perfect, thoughtful Jim. Hell, *everybody* wants one, don't they!" 

"You're making fun of me!" Blair said, flinching as if he'd been struck. 

"No I'm not," Jim said. "I'm making a point. God love you Blair for thinking of me like that, but you know it's not true. Maybe it seems like it lately because I haven't been going through all the shit that you have. But think back to before all this started. Think back to any given week and tell me how many times you rolled your eyes at me, and huffed around the loft because you were pissed, and walked out of here grumbling because of something stupid I said or did...." 

Blair shuddered and managed a cough that was both sob and laughter. "Jeez, you want me to count up a whole week's worth?" he asked, through his tears. "You got that kind of time on your hands?" 

Jim smiled and deemed it safe to approach his shivering lover. He gently embraced the younger man and kissed the top of his head. "For you, Baby, I've got all the time in the world," he whispered, and proved it by holding Blair for as long as he needed.  
  


* * *

The next few days passed quietly and uneventfully. Jim was determined to keep Blair's life as stress-free as possible, so they spoke of nothing consequential. He took great pains to keep the conversation light and joking; he tried to keep the worried glances and solicitous advances to a minimum. 

Blair was relieved at first. He knew they were going to have to discuss the last few weeks ad nauseum, but he was glad to put it off as long as possible. But then he started to worry about it, stew about it. Was Jim just waiting for him to fully recover before handing him is walking papers? Blair knew that kind of thinking was unfair to Jim, who was bending over backward to prove his devotion. So why couldn't he shake the feeling of impending doom? 

The afternoon before Blair was due to return to work, he was napping on the couch when the phone rang. Jim picked it up on the first ring, thinking it was Simon, pretending to call about a case when he was really checking up on the kid. 

"Jim, this is Daniel Graves." He sounded much more together than the last time they spoke, and for a moment Jim wondered if he was calling to renege on the deal. 

"I, um, I wanted you to know I put in for the leave. I saw my doctor this morning and I'll be leaving tomorrow for Virginia." 

"I'm glad to hear that," Jim said in a level voice. Blair had stirred on the couch, and he didn't want the younger man to know it was Daniel on the line. 

"Um, look, Jim, I know I have no right to ask this, but I'd....I'd really like to see Blair..." 

"No," Jim said, as if Graves were a salesman asking him to switch long distance carriers. 

"I need to....to apologize. I *need* to do this, Jim. Please. I'll meet him at a restaurant. Some place public. You can be there. I have to tell him I'm sorry." 

Jim stared at Blair for a moment. His guide stared back, curious at the inspection, but saying nothing. Jim sighed, thinking to himself that he liked it better when Blair was steering the ship. "I'll ask him," Jim said gruffly. "If he agrees, I'll call you back." He rang off and watched Blair shakily stand and stretch. 

"Daniel?" he said. 

Jim nodded. "He's leaving town tomorrow. Wants to apologize to you before he goes." 

"Mm," Blair said. "Closure. We in therapy are very big on it." 

"We Blessed Protectors aren't," Jim replied. 

Blair grinned. "My Blessed Protector has been working overtime lately," he said pointedly. He slipped his arms around Jim and kissed his cheek. "Maybe it's time for him to lay low for awhile." 

"Yeah right," Jim snorted derisively. "And if you buy that, I guess you'll be purchasing that attractive bit of swamp land I'm selling." 

It felt good to laugh, Blair thought as Jim leaned down for another kiss. "Yeah, I'll see him," he said, heading for the bathroom. "But first, I've got a month of hot showers coming my way, and I'm starting now." 

Jim turned back to the phone, then Blair's words sunk in. "A month?" he bellowed. "We agreed on two weeks!" 

"I don't remember signing anything!" Blair called back. 

"Oh, all right then," Jim said. "But half of those are with me, and I'm not taking no for an answer!"  
  


* * *

Jim backed in to a parking space right in front of the restaurant. He got out of the truck and stood in front of it, legs spread, arms folded defiantly across his chest. "All right," he said unhappily. "I can see him from here. I'll be listening, so you need me, all you have to do is ask." 

Blair grinned in spite of himself, shaking his head at Jim's pose. "You really *do* look like a Sentinel now," he said wryly. 

"Yeah, well, Graves better believe it," he growled. 

Chuckling to himself, Blair folded his sunglasses into a pocket, squared his shoulders and walked into the restaurant. He nodded at Daniel and slid into the booth across from him, thankful the agent wasn't a Sentinel. The nervous thundering of his heart was embarrassing. 

"Thanks for coming," Daniel said, studying the table. "I....I wanted to let you know that I'm leaving Washington for awhile. I...I'm on temporary leave from the Bureau," he said quietly. "I'll do four weeks as an in- patient, then another month as a supervised outpatient. My doctor thinks I'll be back at work in three, maybe four months." 

"That's good, Daniel," Blair said softly. 

Daniel shook his head and blinked away tears in his eyes. "I never wanted to hurt you, Blair. I think back and it's like....it's like it wasn't me doing those things, saying those terrible things. But I know it was and I'm so sorry. I'm so awfully, awfully sorry." 

Blair nodded, wondering precisely what he was supposed to say. 'That's okay,' wasn't the sentiment he wanted to convey and anything else seemed lame or insincere. 

"I wanted to....to frighten you back to me," Daniel continued. "I know it sounds crazy, Blair. It was. Somehow I thought I could convince you that the only way you'd be safe was if you came back to me. I *never* would have hurt you or Jim. Not physically. I never would have put either one of you in jeopardy. Not like....not like I made you think." 

It seemed important to Daniel that Blair believe him and oddly enough, he did. Up close like this, with Jim only yards away, with all of his fears and nightmares in the proper perspective, Blair had the luxury of understanding Daniel's plight, and even, marginally, feeling sorry for him about it. "I hope....I hope everything turns out well for you," Blair said. "I hope....well, I just hope everything works out okay." 

Daniel nodded. "You could have made this much more difficult for me. Thank you for....for your kindness. Your compassion." Blair shrugged, embarrassed. Daniel looked behind Blair at Jim's imposing stance and he smiled vaguely. Maybe it was more of a twitch. "He's a good man, Blair," he said with a resigned sigh. He squared his shoulders.. "I....I'm glad you have someone like him watching out for you." 

"Yeah," Blair said. His voice was hoarse and he cleared it. "I am too." 

Daniel sighed sadly. "I don't have to tell you what a lucky man he is. It's funny, I think he knows that, but I don't think you do, Blair. I hope....I hope nothing I said made you feel....I...I never meant any of those terrible things. I wanted....I wanted to hurt you, like you'd hurt me so I said the ugliest....most awful things I could imagine. I hope Jim.... makes you believe you're...." The man shrugged and blinked away tears. "....wonderful." 

Blair glanced over his shoulder, his heart fluttering briefly, as if seeing Jim for the first time. He smiled fondly, knowing Jim could see his face. Of course, he couldn't make out Jim's features, but he imagined the big man smiling back at him. "If anyone can, it's him," Blair said succinctly. "Good luck, Daniel. Stay well." 

Daniel stood up and laid a five dollar bill on the table. He tried to smile, but couldn't. Tears clouded his bloodshot eyes, but he swallowed hard and in a soft, steady voice, whispered. "Good bye, Blair." 

Blair sat there for a minute or two, then slowly came to his feet, jumping when he turned around to find Jim standing there. "Hey," he said with a weak smile. 

"Hey," Jim said, slipping his arm around Blair's shoulder. They walked like that to the truck, and if Blair wasn't already about to keel over, he was after Jim suddenly leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Right there in the middle of the parking lot. 

Blair grinned, looking so happy that Jim couldn't help but grin back. "Come on," Jim said with a wink. "We've got about three weeks of lost time to make up for and I, for one, am rarin' to go." 

Blair jumped in the cab and started to laugh, a sound Jim felt like he hadn't heard in a lifetime. "You're always rarin' to go," the younger man scoffed, as Jim started down the street. "And here I have the reputation as the easy one." 

Jim snaked his hand over to Blair's crotch and squeezed his balls until Blair shouted with laughter. The bulge tightened beneath Jim's hand as the temperature in the truck suddenly spiked. Jim grinned wickedly at his lover and flicked on the police lights and siren. Blair's eyes widened, and he threw back his head and laughed. Jim hit the gas and drove the rest of the way home at close to the speed of light. 

They weren't even through the front door before Blair wrapped his legs around his waist, kissing Jim with an open mouth, sucking on his tongue like a starving man finally offered a morsel of food. 

Panting wildly, Jim laughed with pure joy. "Shit, Blair, if I'd known high speed was such an aphrodisiac, we'd have been racing all over town weeks ago." 

"Hindsight's 20-20, isn't it, Big Man," Blair huffed, jumping off his lover so he could continue disrobing him. "Oh god, I've missed this," Blair moaned, peeling off Jim's clothes as quickly as he could, all the while wrestling to get out of his own clothes. "I need you so much. I need to feel you, need to connect. Oh shit, I need this so bad!" 

In seconds they were completely naked, devouring one another with teeth and tongues. Moans and grunts and shouts of pleasure swirled around the loft, intermixed with sounds of labored breathing, ragged gasps for air and pleas for release. 

Blair groaned as the sharp front of a stair ground against his back. Leaning up to support himself with his hands, he shifted his hips forward, searching desperately for Jim's mouth. He moaned again when he felt Jim's lips slide down the length of his penis, his brilliant tongue twisting around the twitching organ. Blair lunged forward, fucking his lover's mouth, pleasure and pain and desire and despair tumbling inside his heart. When the release came, he screamed in abject surrender, giving up every last vestige of himself to the man who possessed him so completely. 

Only one last ceremony remained and they stumbled upstairs, as if time was running out for them. 

Neither Blair nor Jim had any illusions about what this night was for, about what it meant. There was nothing beautiful or sacred about this, it was pure, animal lust, a night of insentient passion meant to convey those emotions for which words did not exist. 

Blair grunted when Jim pushed him face down on the bed and mutely entered him up to the hilt. Bellowing furiously Blair pushed backward to impale himself further. 

Jim said nothing as he possessively thrust himself forward. He growled and bit Blair's neck in response, recklessly leaving mark after mark. Blair groaned again, stunned when he realized that even in this position of total, utter submission, he both possessed and was possessed; he owned and was owned; they were separate but they were one. How ironic that he who had been the more prolific between them should know so little about this magical act; this beautiful dance that was at once domination and capitulation. He nearly wept at the insight that this was what it meant to trust and be trusted; to love and be loved. 

And when Blair lifted his head and howled with delight, when he shouted to the heavens, "I'm yours!" the silent reply echoed in his mind, 'And you're mine. You're mine, you're mine, you're mine.....' 

Jim shouted with abandon and released himself inside his willing lover, and Blair imagined his seed exploding into the farthest corners of his body. Feeling Jim fill him, leaving part of himself behind, Blair smiled and imagined the things he loved most about the beautiful man--his heart and his conviction; his bravery and his devotion--he imagined all of it circulating inside him and making a home for itself in the reaches of his heart that had long been empty.  
  


* * *

Blair woke up in the exact same position in which he'd fallen asleep-- curled up around Jim, his head on the big man's expansive chest. Jim was awake, his hand running up and down Blair's back. 

Blair couldn't remember ever feeling so relaxed. So protected. Of all the wonderful things about waking up in Jim's bed, the absolute tops had to be that sense of total safety found in his warm embrace. "Morning," Blair finally whispered. 

"Morning." 

He could hear the smile on Jim's face. He tightened his arms around the older man which made Jim, in turn, tighten his embrace. Blair swallowed hard, dreading the big Discussion that was coming. 

Things weren't perfectly settled, not yet, and they wouldn't be without hashing everything out. Why couldn't they just forget it all, or better yet, start over and pretend none of the shit ever happened? His heart started nervously thudding when Jim gently rolled him over on to his back. Still holding him, Jim kissed his forehead, then his eyebrow, his cheek, his chin, finally very, very gently, his lips. Then he pulled back and looked at his lover for a long minute. Jim diffidently played with one of Blair's nipples, gnawing his bottom lip as if searching for the right words. Blair suppressed a sigh and waited with his breath held, like a man about to be handed a death sentence. 

Finally Jim said quietly, "Let's go on a date tonight." 

"Wh...what?" Blair asked. 

Jim shrugged and looked slightly embarrassed. "A date, Blair. You know, a look-forward-to-it-all-day, shower-and-get-dressed-up, honest to God date." 

Blair was so relieved the Discussion was avoided that a great big grin spread across his features. "A date," he said as if he'd never heard the word. "Yeah, that'd be awesome!" 

Jim chuckled, either at Blair's word choice or his excitement. Blair wasn't sure which. He gave the younger man a final kiss and said, "I've gotta get to the office. You go back to sleep. You're not due at the U until noon." 

He got out of bed, and Blair was in such a good mood, he refrained from making a sarcastic comment about Jim's paternal instructions. He didn't go back to sleep, preferring instead to watch Jim dress for work. They said nothing, but the silence was companionable and pleasant, and he had started to drift off when Jim leaned over the bed and kissed his forehead. 

Blair smiled, "So you're really taking me out on the town tonight, Big Man?" 

Jim's grin bordered on lascivious. He flashed his eyebrows, in a perfect imitation of Blair at his most lecherous. "Who said anything about going out?" he asked and then took his leave. "Seven O'clock, Blair," he called from downstairs. "And this is one time you don't want to be late!"  
  


* * *

At a little after six that evening, Blair came through the door and frowned at the darkened loft. Sliding his back pack off his shoulder, he reached for the light, but stopped when the candles registered. He turned his head to where Jim stood in the kitchen, and a slow smile spread across his features. 

Jim could finally tell that Blair had gained back some of the weight he'd lost, and the dark, bruising circles under his eyes were nearly gone. For the first time in weeks a smile reached all the way to his eyes and set Jim's heart thumping along in overdrive. God, he was beautiful. 

"Hey, what's this?" Blair asked, eyes bright with excitement and curiosity. 

"This is dinner," Jim said quietly. 

"You cooked for me?" Blair asked, letting the backpack fall to the floor. 

Jim smirked. "Come on, Chief, I want this to be a *nice* evening," he said with a grin. "Moretti's cooked. But I set the table." 

Blair glanced back at the table, set formally with fine plates and wine glasses, cloth napkins and glowing candles. "Nice," Blair said. 

"Why don't you shower and change. Everything will be ready when you're done." 

With an amicable shrug, Blair took a nice, long shower, then headed up to the bedroom. He stopped short and chuckled at the clothing Jim had set out for him on the bed. A pair of crisp, new jeans, white T-shirt, Blair's favorite navy sweater. He dressed hastily, his heart quickening at the unexpected pleasure the evening seemed to hold. He walked downstairs just as Jim was placing warm bread on the table. 

Jim turned at the sound of Blair descending the steps and slowly stood up straight. "Wow," Jim whispered. "You're beautiful, Blair. You're the most beautiful man I've ever known." 

The look on Jim's face made Blair warm from the inside out. A brief shudder shook his shoulders, and he found himself at a sudden loss for words. 

He slid into his chair while Jim set down a plate of lasagna at his place and a plate of noodles at Blair's. "You're still on bland and boring for another week," Jim reminded him. "No tomato sauce until then. But I had Tom make a special seasoning for you." 

"Thanks," Blair said, his voice gruff with emotion. Jim smiled at him and he smiled back and then Jim leaned over and kissed him and for a long time, Blair thought of nothing but kissing him back. Someone's stomach growled and they both laughed and pulled back. Jim nodded toward Blair's plate, so he twirled some pasta around his fork and tasted it, his eyebrows lifting at the pleasing taste. "Man, this is great!" he said. 

Jim laughed and dug in to his own meal. He didn't eat much, though, preferring to watch Blair energetically dispatch his food. They talked about the article Blair was having published and an upcoming law enforcement convention Simon was trying to talk Jim in to attending. And sometimes, they didn't talk about anything, they just looked at one another while Jim's thumb gently caressed the back of Blair's hand. 

When they were finished, Jim carried their plates to the sink. He lit several more candles all around the loft, then, grinning at Blair over his shoulder, he loaded several CD's into the player, then came to stand next to him. "May I have this dance?" he asked in a low voice. 

Blair closed his eyes and leaned his head back for a moment. It was as if Jim had somehow wired himself in to every one of Blair's adolescent dreams of romance. He opened his eyes and nodded and felt Jim gently nudge him to a standing position. Taking Blair's hand, he led them to a patch of free space in the living room and brought Blair into his arms. 

The music was low and soothing and they swayed smoothly to it. "You're the only one I ever want to dance with," Jim said in a low voice. "The only one I want to hold, the only one whose eyes I can look into for a lifetime. There's never going to be anyone else for me but you." 

Blair blushed, his heart flooding with a mixture of understanding and arousal. "I love you," he murmured, lowering his eyes in that way that told Jim he feared the sentiment would be spurned or mocked. 

"I love you too," Jim said leaning over to catch Blair's gaze. His eyes radiated sincerity and conviction and the younger man caught his breath, as if the truth that he saw there had startled him. 

Three songs into the CD, Jim finally untucked Blair's T-shirt and slid his hand up his back, skin on skin causing both of them to gasp. Blair carefully undid the buttons on Jim's shirt. Five songs in they were bare- chested, once again holding one another as if letting go would cause gravity to loosen its grasp on them. 

Jim's soothing litany of sweet talk continued, an even more romantic soundtrack to the evening. Blair had quickly decided to let Jim steer him wherever he wanted the both of them to go. He wasn't going to ruin a minute of it by thinking about *anything* other than how to return to Jim the pleasure radiating through him like a sonic wave. 

The second CD started and Blair found himself divested of the jeans his lover chose for him. Briefs slid down his hips, a hand steadied him as he kicked them from around his ankles. Jim was next, undoing his dress pants and shifting his hips back and forth, taking his boxers with them and tossing them to the side. Blair's smile was his most open and admiring, and Jim was startled to suddenly feel tears burning his eyes. 

A new song came on, and Jim pulled Blair close, as much to hide the unexpected emotion as anything. He sang quietly in Blair's ear, but as his penis began finding Blair's, as they began to rub and thrust and move in time to the music, concentrating became a more and more impossible task. Jim covered Blair's mouth and kissed him, hard and insistent. A kiss of ownership. A kiss that said, 'you're mine and I'm yours and no one can change that.' A kiss that promised forever. 

And then, suddenly, Jim was on his knees in front of Blair, hands on either side of the younger man, holding him steady. They locked eyes for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time. "I love you, Blair," he whispered and very, very gently took Blair's engorged penis into his mouth. Jim's hands and mouth were exquisitely gentle as they roved over Blair's body, kissing, caressing, suckling. He went slow and easy, taking his time to explore every nook of the man, every crevice. 

Blair had never felt so safe in anyone's presence, much less under their control. Even as Jim took him higher and higher, as the room swam blissfully out of focus and the music faded completely, Blair felt protected. He felt cherished. Tears slid from beneath closed eyes, but Jim's own eyes were closed in concentration as he paid homage to his beautiful lover. 

Words were unnecessary. Jim felt Blair's testicles tighten in preparation for release and he stepped up his efforts. With a groan, Blair surged forward and released himself into his lover's mouth gasping as Jim, too, lunged forward, mouth closing even more firmly around the organ so he could consume every last drop of ejaculate. 

Jim pulled Blair down to join him, and they frantically locked lips, both of them breathless and spent. 

Blair struggled to maintain the same sense of reverence as he forced Jim to recline on the floor. He felt suddenly childish. 

Here was the difference from the night before. 

He knew a hell of a lot about sex, about fucking, but he realized now that it was Jim who understood making love. The difference was far greater than just semantics, and he suddenly wanted with all his heart to make love to this man. Very slowly, Blair kissed a path down Jim's torso, pausing now and then to nuzzle and suck and occasionally sink his teeth into the smooth, salty skin. 

Jim writhed beneath him, gasping and moaning, until he could stand it no longer. "Jesus Christ, Blair, if you don't take me now, I'll come without you touching me!" 

Blair grinned and chuckled in the back of his throat and gladly obliged the excited man. Another long, luxurious groan from Jim. His penis twitched, dribbling pre-ejaculate down Blair's throat. Blair opened his throat and took Jim as far into his mouth as he could, letting his teeth scrape the organ as he moved over it. 

He shifted to his side and slid a hand over Jim's hip, prompting the big man to begin undulating. It took a moment for Jim to understand the suggestion, and then he groaned and shuddered and began to move. 

They cried out in tandem, Blair hearing the familiar tone of warning in Jim's voice. He surged forward as Jim did the same and saw a burst of light when Jim shouted and shot his load. Blair siphoned out as much as he could, refusing to release his lover, until Jim chuckled and gently disengaged himself from Blair's control. 

Slick with sweat, they embraced until the chill of the loft grew noticeable. Refusing to release Blair's hand, Jim led them over to the couch, wrapping them both in the comforter that had been precipitously placed beside it. Jim laid down on the couch with Blair on top of him and they necked like teenagers until the candles melted and one by one began to flicker and fade. 

They were nestled snugly against one another, Blair's head on Jim's chest, the big man's hand slowly combing through the dark curls, when Jim whispered, "Do something for me?" 

"Anything," Blair mumbled back. 

"Talk to me," Jim said. He felt Blair stiffen for a moment, but he tightened his own hold around the younger man, and kissed the top of his head and said it again, trying to promise with his tone that everything was okay. "Talk to me."  
  


* * *

Jim went first, because Blair wouldn't. He didn't want to put the younger man on the defensive, but he didn't know any other way to drive his point home, and he'd promised himself one of Blair's fears would be put to rest before the evening was over. "Blair, when we're on a stakeout together, or chasing after some low life, when your life is on the line because of the Job, do you wonder whether or not I'm going to back you up?" 

"Of course not!" Blair said, looking hurt that Jim would even suggest such a thing. They hadn't dressed, Jim had merely grabbed another blanket, which Blair now drew tightly around his shivering body. 

"You never wonder?" Jim pressed. "You never think that maybe this time is the time I don't come through for you?" 

"Never," Blair answered softly. 

"Then why," Jim asked quietly, slipping Blair's hand into his, "if you trust me with your life, won't you trust me with your heart?" 

Blair blinked hard at the question and averted his eyes, but Jim gently placed his fingertips under Blair's chin and forced his eyes upward. "It's different," Blair said, searching Jim's face with troubled eyes. 

"It's the same," Jim said with conviction. "Blair, as sure as you are that I'm watching your back when we're on the street, that's how sure I want you to be of my feelings for you." 

"When you say that it makes it seem so....so easy," Blair said, pushing his hair back, face still full of doubt. 

"It is easy," Jim whispered in a soft, coaxing voice. 

Blair shook his head. "For you," he said, a bit of sarcastic wit creeping into his voice. "Shit, Jim, you're not afraid of anything. Nothing rattles you, nothing gets to you." Jim smirked, but Blair continued. "You know what I mean, nothing important. You have a serenity I just don't...." 

"Blair Sandburg, would you listen to yourself?!" Jim said, with an incredulous laugh. "I was a basket case when we met up, and you know it! I still freak out every time one of these damned senses does something unexpected. Any serenity I have *you* gave me." 

Blair sighed tiredly and shook his head. "God, that's such a laugh," he said, looking anything but amused. "I'm falling apart over here, Jim, and I don't know what in the hell to do...." 

"Trust me!" Jim said, squeezing Blair's forearms and pulling Blair towards him. "Believe me when I say I love you....Let me take care of you for once, let me love you!" 

"It's just...." Blair started to say, his voice choking off at the unexpected tears clouding his vision. "I've trained myself for so long not to depend on anyone but myself, you know? Not to let myself care too much or need too much or want too much. And now, it's like, with you....man, the flood gates are opened and I can't....I can't reign in what I'm feeling." 

"Then don't!" Jim said. "Blair, this part at the beginning, when it's all new and...and unexpected and *amazing*....well, to me, it's one of the best parts about falling in love with someone. Don't miss out on it. Don't let the terrible things that happened to you as little boy cheat you out of this. Cheat *us* out of it." 

Blair let Jim pull him into a gentle embrace. He held on as tightly as he could and shook his head against Jim's smooth chest. "Shit, Jim, you want to unload that swamp land now? 'Cause I think I'll buy just about anything you're selling." 

Jim chuckled and kissed the top of Blair's soft hair and felt his own heart ease as the tension began ebbing from the younger man. "Listen close, Blair. I'm not saying I'll never fuck up again. I mean, let's face it. I wasn't exactly Mr. Perfect about Drew Paxton--it's pretty obvious I could use a little nudge in the sensitivity department. And I don't know that I'll ever be comfortable enough to be 'out' at the Department. I'm not saying we won't disagree sometimes, that we won't bug the hell out of each other now and then. I'm not promising perfection. All I'm saying is that I love you. And I'll spend a lifetime proving it to you if I have to. I love you and I always will." 

"Keep saying it, Jim," Blair whispered. "I'll believe it one of these days." 

Jim grinned into Blair's hair then pulled him back and narrowed his gaze. "Tell you what, Sandburg. Let's set up a little trial period, here. Let's say that, if, at the end of, mmm, ten years, you're not *fully* convinced that my intentions are on the up and up, we agree to reexamine the relationship." 

Blair grinned almost in spite of himself. "Ten years, huh?" 

"I know how you like to research, Chief," Jim said in a low voice, slipping closer to his lover, straddling his right leg so he could press his groin against Blair's hip. "And I'd sure as hell hate for you to come to any hasty conclusions." 

Blair bit his bottom lip, his smile widening at the feel of Jim's growing erection. "I don't know. This could mean a lot of extra work for both of us." 

"I'm up to the task," Jim said, his hand sliding down over Blair's ass. He grinned at Blair's erection. "And I *know* you're up for it," he teased. "What do you say, Baby? Ten year trial period, then we go from there." 

With a relaxed chuckle, Blair gave himself over to Jim's embrace. He thought about the sense of certainty he felt when with Jim on a case. He closed his eyes and zeroed in on that feeling, on the absolute faith he had in the man. He almost laughed out loud that Jim would have to draw the connection for him. Some brilliant graduate student he was. Suddenly it seemed so simplistic, so painfully obvious. Blair hugged Jim again and let go of a deep, shuddering sigh. Before he said a word, Jim smiled victoriously, feeling his own pent up tension draining. 

"I'll give you ten years, Ellison," Blair said with tough guy bravado. "But every time you piss me off, I'm tacking another year on to the end of that." 

Smile blazing from ear to ear, Jim looked down at his lover. "Hmm, are you trying to inspire me to be good?" he asked, slipping a finger into Blair's ass and licking his lips when Blair jumped and dug his hardened cock into his side. Jim leaned down and seductively whispered, "Or bad?" 

With a groan, Blair turned away from Jim, padding to the bathroom to grab the massage oil. He was grinning when he returned, already rubbing his oiled hands together in eager anticipation. "I'm not sure," he finally admitted. "Ask me again in a few years. I should know by then."  
  


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